thousand inhabitants, and is considered by the people of Ireland to be
the second city in the British Empire. The Liffey, which falls into
Dublin Bay a little below the Custom-House, divides the town into two
nearly equal parts. The streets are--some of them--very fine, especially
upper Sackville Street, in the centre of which stands a pillar erected
to Nelson, England's most distinguished Naval Commander. The Bank of
Ireland, to which I paid a visit, is a splendid building, and was
formerly the Parliament House. This magnificent edifice fronts College
Green, and near at hand stands a bronze statue of William III. The Bank
and the Custom-House are two of the finest monuments of architecture in
the city; the latter of which stands near the river Liffey, and its
front makes an imposing appearance, extending to three hundred and
seventy-five feet. It is built of Portland stone, and is adorned with a
beautiful portico in the centre, consisting of four Doric columns
supporting an enriched entablature, decorated with a group of figures in
alto-relievo, representing Hibernia and Britannia presenting emblems of
peace and liberty. A magnificent dome, supporting a cupola, on whose
apex stands a colossal figure of Hope, rises nobly from the centre of
the building to a height of one hundred and twenty-five feet. It is,
withal, a fine specimen of what man can do.
From this noble edifice, we bent our steps to another part of the city,
and soon found ourselves in the vicinity of St. Patrick's, where we had
a heart-sickening view of the poorest of the poor. All the recollections
of poverty which I had ever beheld, seemed to disappear in comparison
with what was then before me. We passed a filthy and noisy market, where
fruit and vegetable women were screaming and begging those passing by to
purchase their commodities; while in and about the market-place were
throngs of beggars fighting for rotten fruit, cabbage stocks, and even
the very trimmings of vegetables. On the side walks, were great numbers
hovering about the doors of the more wealthy, and following strangers,
importuning them for "pence to buy bread." Sickly and emaciated-looking
creatures, half naked, were at our heels at every turn. After passing
through a half dozen, or more, of narrow and dirty streets, we returned
to our lodgings, impressed with the idea that we had seen enough of the
poor for one day.
In our return home, we passed through a respectable looking street, in
which stands a small three storey brick building, which was pointed out
to us as the birth-place of Thomas Moore, the poet. The following verse
from one of Moore's poems was continually in my mind while viewing this
house:--
"Where is the slave, so lowly,
Condemn'd to chains unholy,
Who, could he burst
His bonds at first,
Would pine beneath them slowly?"
* * * * *
Yesterday was the Sabbath, but it had more the appearance of a holiday
than a day of rest. It had been announced the day before, that the Royal
fleet was expected, and at an early hour on Sunday, the entire town
seemed to be on the move towards Kingstown, and as the family with whom
I was staying followed the multitude, I was not inclined to remain
behind, and so went with them. On reaching the station we found it
utterly impossible to get standing room in any of the trains, much less
a seat, and therefore determined to reach Kingstown under the plea of a
morning's walk; and in this we were not alone, for during the walk of
five miles the road was filled with thousands of pedestrians and a
countless number of carriages, phaetons, and vehicles of a more humble
order.
We reached the lower town in time to get a good dinner, and rest
ourselves before going to make further searches for Her Majesty's fleet.
At a little past four o'clock, we observed the multitude going towards
the pier, a number of whom were yelling at the top of their voices,
"It's coming, it's coming;" but on going to the quay, we found that a
false alarm had been given. However, we had been on the look-out but a
short time, when a column of smoke rising as it were out of the sea,
announced that the Royal fleet was near at hand. The concourse in the
vicinity of the pier was variously estimated at from eighty to one
hundred thousand.
It was not long before the five steamers were entering the harbour, the
one bearing Her Majesty leading the way. As each vessel had a number of
distinguished persons on board, the people appeared to be at a loss to
know which was the Queen; and as each party made its appearance on the
promenade deck, they were received with great enthusiasm, the party
having the best looking lady being received with the greatest applause.
The Prince of Wales, and Prince Alfred, while crossing the deck were
recognised and greeted with three cheers; the former taking off his hat
and bowing to the people, showed that he had had some training as a
public man although not ten years of age. But not so with Prince Alfred;
for, when his brother turned to him and asked him to take off his hat
and make a bow to the people, he shook his head and said, "No." This was
received with hearty laughter by those on board, and was responded to by
the thousands on shore. But greater applause was yet in store for the
young prince; for the captain of the steamer being near by, and seeing
that the Prince of Wales could not prevail on his brother to take off
his hat, stepped up to him and undertook to take it off for him, when,
seemingly to the delight of all, the prince put both hands to his head
and held his hat fast. This was regarded as a sign of courage and future
renown, and was received with the greatest enthusiasm--many crying out,
"Good, good: he will make a brave king when his day comes."
After the greetings and applause had been wasted on many who had
appeared on deck, all at once, as if by some magic power, we beheld a
lady rather small in stature, with auburn or reddish hair, attired in a
plain dress, and wearing a sky-blue bonnet, standing on the larboard
paddle-box, by the side of a tall good-looking man, with mustaches. The
thunders of applause that now rent the air, and cries of "The Queen, the
Queen," seemed to set at rest the question of which was Her Majesty. But
a few moments were allowed to the people to look at the Queen, before
she again disappeared; and it was understood that she would not be seen
again that evening. A rush was then made for the railway, to return to
Dublin.
* * * * *
_August 8_.
Yesterday was a great day in Dublin. At an early hour the bells began
their merry peals, and the people were soon seen in groups in the
streets and public squares. The hour of ten was fixed for the procession
to leave Kingstown, and it was expected to enter the city at eleven. The
windows of the houses in the streets through which the Royal train was
to pass, were at a premium, and seemed to find ready occupants.
Being invited the day previous to occupy part of a window in Upper
Sackville Street, I was stationed at my allotted place, at an early
hour, with an out-stretched neck and open eyes. My own colour differing
from those about me, I attracted not a little attention from many; and
often, when gazing down the street to see if the Royal procession was in
sight, would find myself eyed by all around. But neither while at the
window, or in the streets, was I once insulted. This was so unlike the
American prejudice, that it seemed strange to me. It was near twelve
o'clock before the procession entered Sackville Street, and when it did
all eyes seemed to beam with delight. The first carriage contained only
Her Majesty and the Prince Consort; the second, the Royal children; and
the third, the Lords in Waiting. Fifteen carriages were used by those
that made up the Royal party. I had a full view of the Queen and all who
followed in the train. Her Majesty--whether from actual love for her
person, or the novelty of the occasion, I know not which--was received
everywhere with the greatest enthusiasm. One thing, however, is certain,
and that is--Queen Victoria is beloved by her subjects.
But the grand _fete_ was reserved for the evening. Great preparations
had been made to have a grand illumination on the occasion, and hints
were thrown out that it would surpass anything ever witnessed in London.
In this they were not far out of the way; for all who witnessed the
scene admitted that it could scarcely have been surpassed. My own idea
of an illumination, as I had seen it in the backwoods of my own native
land, dwindled into nothing when compared with this magnificent affair.
In company with a few friends, and a lady under my charge, I undertook
to pass through Sackville and one or two other streets, about eight
o'clock in the evening, but we found it utterly impossible to proceed.
Masses thronged the streets, and the wildest enthusiasm seemed to
prevail. In our attempt to cross the bridge, we were wedged in and lost
our companions; and on one occasion I was separated from the lady, and
took shelter under a cart standing in the street. After being jammed and
pulled about for nearly two hours, I returned to my lodgings, where I
found part of my company, who had come in one after another. At eleven
o'clock we had all assembled, and each told his adventures and
"hairbreadth escapes;" and nearly every one had lost a pocket
handkerchief or something of the kind: my own was among the missing.
However, I lost nothing; for a benevolent lady, who happened to be one
of the company, presented me with one which was of far more value than
the one I had lost.
Every one appeared to enjoy the holiday which the Royal visit had
caused. But the Irish are indeed a strange people. How varied their
aspect--how contradictory their character. Ireland, the land of genius
and degradation--of great resources and unparalleled poverty--noble
deeds and the most revolting crimes--the land of distinguished poets,
splendid orators, and the bravest of soldiers--the land of ignorance and
beggary! Dublin is a splendid city, but its splendour is that of
chiselled marble rather than real life. One cannot behold these
architectural monuments without thinking of the great men that Ireland
has produced. The names of Burke, Sheridan, Flood, Grattan, O'Connell,
and Shiel, have become as familiar to the Americans as household words.
Burke is known as the statesman; Sheridan for his great speech on the
trial of Warren Hastings; Grattan for his eloquence; O'Connell as the
agitator; and Shiel as the accomplished orator.
But of Ireland's sons, none stands higher in America than Thomas Moore,
the Poet. The vigour of his sarcasm, the glow of his enthusiasm, the
coruscations of his fancy, and the flashing of his wit, seem to be as
well understood in the new world as the old; and the support which his
pen has given to civil and religious liberty throughout the world,
entitled the Minstrel of Erin to this elevated position.
Before leaving America I had heard much of the friends of my enslaved
countrymen residing in Ireland; and the reception I met with on all
hands while in public, satisfied me that what I had heard had not been
exaggerated. To the Webbs, Allens, and Haughtons, of Dublin, the cause
of the American slave is much indebted.
I quitted Dublin with a feeling akin to leaving my native land.
LETTER III.
_Departure from Ireland--London--Trip to Paris--Paris--The Peace
Congress: first day--Church of the Madeleine--Column Vendome--the
French._
PARIS, _August 23_.
After a pleasant sojourn of three weeks in Ireland, I took passage in
one of the mail steamers for Liverpool, and arriving there was soon on
the road to the metropolis. The passage from Dublin to Liverpool was an
agreeable one. The rough sea that we passed through on going to Ireland
had given way to a dead calm, and our noble little steamer, on quitting
the Dublin wharf, seemed to understand that she was to have it all her
own way. During the first part of the evening, the boat appeared to feel
her importance, and, darting through the water with majestic strides,
she left behind her a dark cloud of smoke suspended in the air like a
banner; while, far astern in the wake of the vessel, could be seen the
rippled waves sparkling in the rays of the moon, giving strength and
beauty to the splendour of the evening.
On reaching Liverpool, and partaking of a good breakfast, for which we
paid double price, we proceeded to the railway station, and were soon
going at a rate unknown to those accustomed to travel on one of our
American railways. At a little past two o'clock in the afternoon, we saw
in the distance the out-skirts of London. We could get but an indistinct
view, which had the appearance of one architectural mass, extending all
round to the horizon, and enveloped in a combination of fog and smoke;
and towering above every other object to be seen, was the dome of St.
Paul's Cathedral.
A few moments more, and we were safely seated in a "Hansom's Patent,"
and on our way to Hughes's--one of the politest men of the George Fox
stamp we have ever met. Here we found forty or fifty persons, who, like
ourselves, were bound for the Peace Congress. The Sturges, the Wighams,
the Richardsons, the Allens, the Thomases, and a host of others not less
distinguished as friends of peace, were of the company--many of whom I
had heard of, but none of whom I had ever seen; yet I was not an entire
stranger to many, especially to the abolitionists. In company with a
friend, I sallied forth after tea to take a view of the city. The
evening was fine--the dense fog and smoke having to some extent passed
away, left the stars shining brightly, while the gas light from the
street lamps and the brilliant shop windows gave it the appearance of
day-light in a new form. "What street is this?" we asked. "Cheapside,"
was the reply. The street was thronged, and every body seemed to be
going at a rapid rate, as if there was something of importance at the
end of the journey. Flying vehicles of every description passing each
other with a dangerous rapidity, men with lovely women at their sides,
children running about as if they had lost their parents--all gave a
brilliancy to the scene scarcely to be excelled. If one wished to get
jammed and pushed about, he need go no farther than Cheapside. But every
thing of the kind is done with a degree of propriety in London, that
would put the New Yorkers to blush. If you are run over in London, they
"beg your pardon;" if they run over you in New York, you are "laughed
at:" in London, if your hat is knocked off it is picked up and handed to
you; if, in New York, you must pick it up yourself. There is a lack of
good manners among Americans that is scarcely known or understood in
Europe. Our stay in the great metropolis gave us but little opportunity
of seeing much of the place; for in twenty-four hours after our arrival
we joined the rest of the delegates, and started on our visit to our
Gallic neighbours.
We assembled at the London Bridge Railway Station on Tuesday morning the
21st, a few minutes past nine, to the number of 600. The day was fine,
and every eye seemed to glow with enthusiasm. Besides the delegates,
there were probably not less than 600 more, who had come to see the
company start. We took our seats and appeared to be waiting for nothing
but the iron-horse to be fastened to the train, when all at once, we
were informed that we must go to the booking-office and change our
tickets. At this news every one appeared to be vexed. This caused great
trouble; for on returning to the train many persons got into the wrong
carriages; and several parties were separated from their friends, while
not a few were calling out at the top of their voices, "Where is my
wife? Where is my husband? Where is my luggage? Who's got my boy? Is
this the right train?" "What is that lady going to do with all these
children?" asked the guard. "Is she a delegate: are all the children
delegates?" In the carriage where I had taken my seat was a
good-looking lady who gave signs of being very much annoyed. "It is just
so when I am going anywhere: I never saw the like in my life," said she.
"I really wish I was at home again."
An hour had now elapsed, and we were still at the station. However, we
were soon on our way, and going at express speed. In passing through
Kent we enjoyed the scenery exceedingly, as the weather was altogether
in our favour; and the drapery which nature hung on the trees, in the
part through which we passed, was in all its gaiety. On our arrival at
Folkstone, we found three steamers in readiness to convey the party to
Boulogne. As soon as the train stopped, a general rush was made for the
steamers; and in a very short time the one in which I had embarked was
passing out of the harbour. The boat appeared to be conscious that we
were going on a holy mission, and seemed to be proud of her load. There
is nothing in this wide world so like a thing of life as a steamer, from
the breathing of her steam and smoke, the energy of her motion, and the
beauty of her shape; while the ease with which she is managed by the
command of a single voice, makes her appear as obedient as the horse is
to the rein.
When we were about half way between the two great European Powers, the
officers began to gather the tickets. The first to whom he applied, and
who handed out his "Excursion Ticket," was informed that we were all in
the wrong boat. "Is this not one of the boats to take over the
delegates?" asked a pretty little lady, with a whining voice. "No,
Madam," said the captain. "You must look to the committee for your pay,"
said one of the company to the captain. "I have nothing to do with
committees," the captain replied. "Your fare, Gentlemen, if you please."
Here the whole party were again thrown into confusion. "Do you hear
that? We are in the wrong boat." "I knew it would be so," said the Rev.
Dr. Ritchie, of Edinburgh. "It is indeed a pretty piece of work," said a
plain-looking lady in a handsome bonnet. "When I go travelling again,"
said an elderly looking gent with an eye-glass to his face, "I will take
the phaeton and old Dobbin." Every one seemed to lay the blame on the
committee, and not, too, without some just grounds. However, Mr. Sturge,
one of the committee, being in the boat with us, an arrangement was
entered into, by which we were not compelled to pay our fare the second
time.
As we neared the French coast, the first object that attracted our
attention was the Napoleon Pillar, on the top of which is a statue of
the Emperor in the Imperial robes. We landed, partook of refreshment
that had been prepared for us, and again repaired to the railway
station. The arrangements for leaving Boulogne were no better than those
at London. But after the delay of another hour, we were again in motion.
It was a beautiful country through which we passed from Boulogne to
Amiens. Straggling cottages which bespeak neatness and comfort abound on
every side. The eye wanders over the diversified views with unabated
pleasure, and rests in calm repose upon its superlative beauty. Indeed,
the eye cannot but be gratified at viewing the entire country from the
coast to the metropolis. Sparkling hamlets spring up as the steam horse
speeds his way, at almost every point--showing the progress of
civilization, and the refinement of the nineteenth century.
We arrived at Paris a few minutes past twelve o'clock at night, when,
according to our tickets, we should have been there at nine. Elihu
Burritt, who had been in Paris some days, and who had the arrangements
there pretty much his own way, was at the station waiting the arrival of
the train, and we had demonstrated to us, the best evidence that he
understood his business. In no other place on the whole route had the
affairs been so well managed; for we were seated in our respective
carriages and our luggage placed on the top, and away we went to our
hotels without the least difficulty or inconvenience. The champion of an
"Ocean Penny Postage" received, as he deserved, thanks from the whole
company for his admirable management.
The silence of the night was only disturbed by the rolling of the wheels
of the omnibus, as we passed through the dimly lighted streets. Where, a
few months before was to be seen the flash from the cannon and the
musket, and the hearing of the cries and groans behind the barricades,
was now the stillness of death--nothing save here and there a _gens
d'arme_ was to be seen going his rounds in silence.
The omnibus set us down at the hotel Bedford, Rue de L'Arend, where,
although near one o'clock, we found a good supper waiting for us; and,
as I was not devoid of an appetite, I did my share towards putting it
out of the way.
The next morning I was up at an early hour, and out on the Boulevards to
see what might be seen. As I was passing from the Bedford to the Place
de La Concord, all at once, and as if by some magic power, I found
myself in front of the most splendid edifice imaginable, situated at the
end of the Rue Nationale. Seeing a number of persons entering the church
at that early hour, and recognising among them my friend the President
of the Oberlin (Ohio) Institute, and wishing not to stray too far from
my hotel before breakfast, I followed the crowd and entered the
building. The church itself consisted of a vast nave, interrupted by
four pews on each side, fronted with lofty fluted Corinthian columns
standing on pedestals, supporting colossal arches, bearing up cupolas,
pierced with skylights and adorned with compartments gorgeously gilt;
their corners supported with saints and apostles in _alto relievo_. The
walls of the church were lined with rich marble. The different paintings
and figures, gave the interior an imposing appearance. On inquiry, I
found that I was in the Church of the Madeleine. It was near this spot
that some of the most interesting scenes occurred during the Revolution
of 1848, which dethroned Louis Philippe. Behind the Madeleine is a small
but well supplied market; and on an esplanade east of the edifice, a
flower market is held on Tuesdays and Fridays.
* * * * *
The first session of the Peace Congress is over.
The Congress met this morning at 11 o'clock, in the Salle St. Cecile,
Rue de la St. Lazare. The Parisians have no "Exeter Hall:" in fact,
there is no private hall in the city of any size, save this, where such
a meeting could be held. This hall has been fitted up for the occasion.
The room is long, and at one end has a raised platform; and at the
opposite end is a gallery, with seats raised one above another. On one
side of the hall was a balcony with sofas, which were evidently the
"reserved seats."
The hall was filled at an early hour with the delegates, their friends,
and a good sprinkling of the French. Occasionally, small groups of
gentlemen would make their appearance on the platform, until it soon
appeared that there was little room left for others; and yet the
officers of the Convention had not come in. The different countries
were, many of them, represented here. England, France, Belgium, Germany,
Switzerland, Greece, Spain, and the United States, had each their
delegates. The Assembly began to give signs of impatience, when very
soon the train of officials made their appearance amid great applause.
Victor Hugo led the way, followed by M. Duguerry, curé of the Madeleine,
Elihu Burritt, and a host of others of less note. Victor Hugo took the
chair as President of the Congress, supported by Vice-presidents from
the several nations represented. Mr. Richard, the Secretary, read a dry
report of the names of societies, committees, &c., which was deemed the
opening of the Convention.