CHAPTER III

BOSTON

_In_ all the public establishments of America, the utmost courtesy

prevails. Most of our Departments are susceptible of considerable

improvement in this respect, but the Custom-house above all others would

do well to take example from the United States and render itself somewhat

less odious and offensive to foreigners. The servile rapacity of the

French officials is sufficiently contemptible; but there is a surly

boorish incivility about our men, alike disgusting to all persons who

fall into their hands, and discreditable to the nation that keeps such

ill-conditioned curs snarling about its gates.

When I landed in America, I could not help being strongly impressed with

the contrast their Custom-house presented, and the attention, politeness

and good humour with which its officers discharged their duty.

As we did not land at Boston, in consequence of some detention at the

wharf, until after dark, I received my first impressions of the city in

walking down to the Custom-house on the morning after our arrival, which

was Sunday. I am afraid to say, by the way, how many offers of pews and

seats in church for that morning were made to us, by formal note of

invitation, before we had half finished our first dinner in America, but

if I may be allowed to make a moderate guess, without going into nicer

calculation, I should say that at least as many sittings were proffered

us, as would have accommodated a score or two of grown-up families. The

number of creeds and forms of religion to which the pleasure of our

company was requested, was in very fair proportion.

Not being able, in the absence of any change of clothes, to go to church

that day, we were compelled to decline these kindnesses, one and all; and

I was reluctantly obliged to forego the delight of hearing Dr. Channing,

who happened to preach that morning for the first time in a very long

interval. I mention the name of this distinguished and accomplished man

(with whom I soon afterwards had the pleasure of becoming personally

acquainted), that I may have the gratification of recording my humble

tribute of admiration and respect for his high abilities and character;

and for the bold philanthropy with which he has ever opposed himself to

that most hideous blot and foul disgrace—Slavery.

To return to Boston. When I got into the streets upon this Sunday

morning, the air was so clear, the houses were so bright and gay: the

signboards were painted in such gaudy colours; the gilded letters were so

very golden; the bricks were so very red, the stone was so very white,

the blinds and area railings were so very green, the knobs and plates

upon the street doors so marvellously bright and twinkling; and all so

slight and unsubstantial in appearance—that every thoroughfare in the

city looked exactly like a scene in a pantomime. It rarely happens in

the business streets that a tradesman, if I may venture to call anybody a

tradesman, where everybody is a merchant, resides above his store; so

that many occupations are often carried on in one house, and the whole

front is covered with boards and inscriptions. As I walked along, I kept

glancing up at these boards, confidently expecting to see a few of them

change into something; and I never turned a corner suddenly without

looking out for the clown and pantaloon, who, I had no doubt, were hiding

in a doorway or behind some pillar close at hand. As to Harlequin and

Columbine, I discovered immediately that they lodged (they are always

looking after lodgings in a pantomime) at a very small clockmaker’s one

story high, near the hotel; which, in addition to various symbols and

devices, almost covering the whole front, had a great dial hanging out—to

be jumped through, of course.

The suburbs are, if possible, even more unsubstantial-looking than the

city. The white wooden houses (so white that it makes one wink to look

at them), with their green jalousie blinds, are so sprinkled and dropped

about in all directions, without seeming to have any root at all in the

ground; and the small churches and chapels are so prim, and bright, and

highly varnished; that I almost believed the whole affair could be taken

up piecemeal like a child’s toy, and crammed into a little box.

The city is a beautiful one, and cannot fail, I should imagine, to

impress all strangers very favourably. The private dwelling-houses are,

for the most part, large and elegant; the shops extremely good; and the

public buildings handsome. The State House is built upon the summit of a

hill, which rises gradually at first, and afterwards by a steep ascent,

almost from the water’s edge. In front is a green enclosure, called the

Common. The site is beautiful: and from the top there is a charming

panoramic view of the whole town and neighbourhood. In addition to a

variety of commodious offices, it contains two handsome chambers; in one

the House of Representatives of the State hold their meetings: in the

other, the Senate. Such proceedings as I saw here, were conducted with

perfect gravity and decorum; and were certainly calculated to inspire

attention and respect.

There is no doubt that much of the intellectual refinement and

superiority of Boston, is referable to the quiet influence of the

University of Cambridge, which is within three or four miles of the city.

The resident professors at that university are gentlemen of learning and

varied attainments; and are, without one exception that I can call to

mind, men who would shed a grace upon, and do honour to, any society in

the civilised world. Many of the resident gentry in Boston and its

neighbourhood, and I think I am not mistaken in adding, a large majority

of those who are attached to the liberal professions there, have been

educated at this same school. Whatever the defects of American

universities may be, they disseminate no prejudices; rear no bigots; dig

up the buried ashes of no old superstitions; never interpose between the

people and their improvement; exclude no man because of his religious

opinions; above all, in their whole course of study and instruction,

recognise a world, and a broad one too, lying beyond the college walls.

It was a source of inexpressible pleasure to me to observe the almost

imperceptible, but not less certain effect, wrought by this institution

among the small community of Boston; and to note at every turn the

humanising tastes and desires it has engendered; the affectionate

friendships to which it has given rise; the amount of vanity and

prejudice it has dispelled. The golden calf they worship at Boston is a

pigmy compared with the giant effigies set up in other parts of that vast

counting-house which lies beyond the Atlantic; and the almighty dollar

sinks into something comparatively insignificant, amidst a whole Pantheon

of better gods.

Above all, I sincerely believe that the public institutions and charities

of this capital of Massachusetts are as nearly perfect, as the most

considerate wisdom, benevolence, and humanity, can make them. I never in

my life was more affected by the contemplation of happiness, under

circumstances of privation and bereavement, than in my visits to these

establishments.

It is a great and pleasant feature of all such institutions in America,

that they are either supported by the State or assisted by the State; or

(in the event of their not needing its helping hand) that they act in

concert with it, and are emphatically the people’s. I cannot but think,

with a view to the principle and its tendency to elevate or depress the

character of the industrious classes, that a Public Charity is

immeasurably better than a Private Foundation, no matter how munificently

the latter may be endowed. In our own country, where it has not, until

within these later days, been a very popular fashion with governments to

display any extraordinary regard for the great mass of the people or to

recognise their existence as improvable creatures, private charities,

unexampled in the history of the earth, have arisen, to do an

incalculable amount of good among the destitute and afflicted. But the

government of the country, having neither act nor part in them, is not in

the receipt of any portion of the gratitude they inspire; and, offering

very little shelter or relief beyond that which is to be found in the

workhouse and the jail, has come, not unnaturally, to be looked upon by

the poor rather as a stern master, quick to correct and punish, than a

kind protector, merciful and vigilant in their hour of need.

The maxim that out of evil cometh good, is strongly illustrated by these

establishments at home; as the records of the Prerogative Office in

Doctors’ Commons can abundantly prove. Some immensely rich old gentleman

or lady, surrounded by needy relatives, makes, upon a low average, a will

a-week. The old gentleman or lady, never very remarkable in the best of

times for good temper, is full of aches and pains from head to foot; full

of fancies and caprices; full of spleen, distrust, suspicion, and

dislike. To cancel old wills, and invent new ones, is at last the sole

business of such a testator’s existence; and relations and friends (some

of whom have been bred up distinctly to inherit a large share of the

property, and have been, from their cradles, specially disqualified from

devoting themselves to any useful pursuit, on that account) are so often

and so unexpectedly and summarily cut off, and reinstated, and cut off

again, that the whole family, down to the remotest cousin, is kept in a

perpetual fever. At length it becomes plain that the old lady or

gentleman has not long to live; and the plainer this becomes, the more

clearly the old lady or gentleman perceives that everybody is in a

conspiracy against their poor old dying relative; wherefore the old lady

or gentleman makes another last will—positively the last this

time—conceals the same in a china teapot, and expires next day. Then it

turns out, that the whole of the real and personal estate is divided

between half-a-dozen charities; and that the dead and gone testator has

in pure spite helped to do a great deal of good, at the cost of an

immense amount of evil passion and misery.

The Perkins Institution and Massachusetts Asylum for the Blind, at

Boston, is superintended by a body of trustees who make an annual report

to the corporation. The indigent blind of that state are admitted

gratuitously. Those from the adjoining state of Connecticut, or from the

states of Maine, Vermont, or New Hampshire, are admitted by a warrant

from the state to which they respectively belong; or, failing that, must

find security among their friends, for the payment of about twenty pounds

English for their first year’s board and instruction, and ten for the

second. ‘After the first year,’ say the trustees, ‘an account current

will be opened with each pupil; he will be charged with the actual cost

of his board, which will not exceed two dollars per week;’ a trifle more

than eight shillings English; ‘and he will be credited with the amount

paid for him by the state, or by his friends; also with his earnings over

and above the cost of the stock which he uses; so that all his earnings

over one dollar per week will be his own. By the third year it will be

known whether his earnings will more than pay the actual cost of his

board; if they should, he will have it at his option to remain and

receive his earnings, or not. Those who prove unable to earn their own

livelihood will not be retained; as it is not desirable to convert the

establishment into an alms-house, or to retain any but working bees in

the hive. Those who by physical or mental imbecility are disqualified

from work, are thereby disqualified from being members of an industrious

community; and they can be better provided for in establishments fitted

for the infirm.’

I went to see this place one very fine winter morning: an Italian sky

above, and the air so clear and bright on every side, that even my eyes,

which are none of the best, could follow the minute lines and scraps of

tracery in distant buildings. Like most other public institutions in

America, of the same class, it stands a mile or two without the town, in

a cheerful healthy spot; and is an airy, spacious, handsome edifice. It

is built upon a height, commanding the harbour. When I paused for a

moment at the door, and marked how fresh and free the whole scene

was—what sparkling bubbles glanced upon the waves, and welled up every

moment to the surface, as though the world below, like that above, were

radiant with the bright day, and gushing over in its fulness of light:

when I gazed from sail to sail away upon a ship at sea, a tiny speck of

shining white, the only cloud upon the still, deep, distant blue—and,

turning, saw a blind boy with his sightless face addressed that way, as

though he too had some sense within him of the glorious distance: I felt

a kind of sorrow that the place should be so very light, and a strange

wish that for his sake it were darker. It was but momentary, of course,

and a mere fancy, but I felt it keenly for all that.

The children were at their daily tasks in different rooms, except a few

who were already dismissed, and were at play. Here, as in many

institutions, no uniform is worn; and I was very glad of it, for two

reasons. Firstly, because I am sure that nothing but senseless custom

and want of thought would reconcile us to the liveries and badges we are

so fond of at home. Secondly, because the absence of these things

presents each child to the visitor in his or her own proper character,

with its individuality unimpaired; not lost in a dull, ugly, monotonous

repetition of the same unmeaning garb: which is really an important

consideration. The wisdom of encouraging a little harmless pride in

personal appearance even among the blind, or the whimsical absurdity of

considering charity and leather breeches inseparable companions, as we

do, requires no comment.

Good order, cleanliness, and comfort, pervaded every corner of the

building. The various classes, who were gathered round their teachers,

answered the questions put to them with readiness and intelligence, and

in a spirit of cheerful contest for precedence which pleased me very

much. Those who were at play, were gleesome and noisy as other children.

More spiritual and affectionate friendships appeared to exist among them,

than would be found among other young persons suffering under no

deprivation; but this I expected and was prepared to find. It is a part

of the great scheme of Heaven’s merciful consideration for the afflicted.

In a portion of the building, set apart for that purpose, are work-shops

for blind persons whose education is finished, and who have acquired a

trade, but who cannot pursue it in an ordinary manufactory because of

their deprivation. Several people were at work here; making brushes,

mattresses, and so forth; and the cheerfulness, industry, and good order

discernible in every other part of the building, extended to this

department also.

On the ringing of a bell, the pupils all repaired, without any guide or

leader, to a spacious music-hall, where they took their seats in an

orchestra erected for that purpose, and listened with manifest delight to

a voluntary on the organ, played by one of themselves. At its

conclusion, the performer, a boy of nineteen or twenty, gave place to a

girl; and to her accompaniment they all sang a hymn, and afterwards a

sort of chorus. It was very sad to look upon and hear them, happy though

their condition unquestionably was; and I saw that one blind girl, who

(being for the time deprived of the use of her limbs, by illness) sat

close beside me with her face towards them, wept silently the while she

listened.

It is strange to watch the faces of the blind, and see how free they are

from all concealment of what is passing in their thoughts; observing

which, a man with eyes may blush to contemplate the mask he wears.

Allowing for one shade of anxious expression which is never absent from

their countenances, and the like of which we may readily detect in our

own faces if we try to feel our way in the dark, every idea, as it rises

within them, is expressed with the lightning’s speed and nature’s truth.

If the company at a rout, or drawing-room at court, could only for one

time be as unconscious of the eyes upon them as blind men and women are,

what secrets would come out, and what a worker of hypocrisy this sight,

the loss of which we so much pity, would appear to be!

The thought occurred to me as I sat down in another room, before a girl,

blind, deaf, and dumb; destitute of smell; and nearly so of taste: before

a fair young creature with every human faculty, and hope, and power of

goodness and affection, inclosed within her delicate frame, and but one

outward sense—the sense of touch. There she was, before me; built up, as

it were, in a marble cell, impervious to any ray of light, or particle of

sound; with her poor white hand peeping through a chink in the wall,

beckoning to some good man for help, that an Immortal soul might be

awakened.

Long before I looked upon her, the help had come. Her face was radiant

with intelligence and pleasure. Her hair, braided by her own hands, was

bound about a head, whose intellectual capacity and development were

beautifully expressed in its graceful outline, and its broad open brow;

her dress, arranged by herself, was a pattern of neatness and simplicity;

the work she had knitted, lay beside her; her writing-book was on the

desk she leaned upon.—From the mournful ruin of such bereavement, there

had slowly risen up this gentle, tender, guileless, grateful-hearted

being.

Like other inmates of that house, she had a green ribbon bound round her

eyelids. A doll she had dressed lay near upon the ground. I took it up,

and saw that she had made a green fillet such as she wore herself, and

fastened it about its mimic eyes.

She was seated in a little enclosure, made by school-desks and forms,

writing her daily journal. But soon finishing this pursuit, she engaged

in an animated conversation with a teacher who sat beside her. This was

a favourite mistress with the poor pupil. If she could see the face of

her fair instructress, she would not love her less, I am sure.

I have extracted a few disjointed fragments of her history, from an

account, written by that one man who has made her what she is. It is a

very beautiful and touching narrative; and I wish I could present it

entire.

Her name is Laura Bridgman. ‘She was born in Hanover, New Hampshire, on

the twenty-first of December, 1829. She is described as having been a

very sprightly and pretty infant, with bright blue eyes. She was,

however, so puny and feeble until she was a year and a half old, that her

parents hardly hoped to rear her. She was subject to severe fits, which

seemed to rack her frame almost beyond her power of endurance: and life

was held by the feeblest tenure: but when a year and a half old, she

seemed to rally; the dangerous symptoms subsided; and at twenty months

old, she was perfectly well.

‘Then her mental powers, hitherto stinted in their growth, rapidly

developed themselves; and during the four months of health which she

enjoyed, she appears (making due allowance for a fond mother’s account)

to have displayed a considerable degree of intelligence.

‘But suddenly she sickened again; her disease raged with great violence

during five weeks, when her eyes and ears were inflamed, suppurated, and

their contents were discharged. But though sight and hearing were gone

for ever, the poor child’s sufferings were not ended. The fever raged

during seven weeks; for five months she was kept in bed in a darkened

room; it was a year before she could walk unsupported, and two years

before she could sit up all day. It was now observed that her sense of

smell was almost entirely destroyed; and, consequently, that her taste

was much blunted.

‘It was not until four years of age that the poor child’s bodily health

seemed restored, and she was able to enter upon her apprenticeship of

life and the world.

‘But what a situation was hers! The darkness and the silence of the tomb

were around her: no mother’s smile called forth her answering smile, no

father’s voice taught her to imitate his sounds:—they, brothers and

sisters, were but forms of matter which resisted her touch, but which

differed not from the furniture of the house, save in warmth, and in the

power of locomotion; and not even in these respects from the dog and the

cat.

‘But the immortal spirit which had been implanted within her could not

die, nor be maimed nor mutilated; and though most of its avenues of

communication with the world were cut off, it began to manifest itself

through the others. As soon as she could walk, she began to explore the

room, and then the house; she became familiar with the form, density,

weight, and heat, of every article she could lay her hands upon. She

followed her mother, and felt her hands and arms, as she was occupied

about the house; and her disposition to imitate, led her to repeat

everything herself. She even learned to sew a little, and to knit.’

The reader will scarcely need to be told, however, that the opportunities

of communicating with her, were very, very limited; and that the moral

effects of her wretched state soon began to appear. Those who cannot be

enlightened by reason, can only be controlled by force; and this, coupled

with her great privations, must soon have reduced her to a worse

condition than that of the beasts that perish, but for timely and

unhoped-for aid.

‘At this time, I was so fortunate as to hear of the child, and

immediately hastened to Hanover to see her. I found her with a

well-formed figure; a strongly-marked, nervous-sanguine temperament; a

large and beautifully-shaped head; and the whole system in healthy

action. The parents were easily induced to consent to her coming to

Boston, and on the 4th of October, 1837, they brought her to the

Institution.

‘For a while, she was much bewildered; and after waiting about two weeks,

until she became acquainted with her new locality, and somewhat familiar

with the inmates, the attempt was made to give her knowledge of arbitrary

signs, by which she could interchange thoughts with others.

‘There was one of two ways to be adopted: either to go on to build up a

language of signs on the basis of the natural language which she had

already commenced herself, or to teach her the purely arbitrary language

in common use: that is, to give her a sign for every individual thing, or

to give her a knowledge of letters by combination of which she might

express her idea of the existence, and the mode and condition of

existence, of any thing. The former would have been easy, but very

ineffectual; the latter seemed very difficult, but, if accomplished, very

effectual. I determined therefore to try the latter.

‘The first experiments were made by taking articles in common use, such

as knives, forks, spoons, keys, &c., and pasting upon them labels with

their names printed in raised letters. These she felt very carefully,

and soon, of course, distinguished that the crooked lines _spoon_,

differed as much from the crooked lines _key_, as the spoon differed from

the key in form.

‘Then small detached labels, with the same words printed upon them, were

put into her hands; and she soon observed that they were similar to the

ones pasted on the articles.’ She showed her perception of this

similarity by laying the label _key_ upon the key, and the label _spoon_

upon the spoon. She was encouraged here by the natural sign of

approbation, patting on the head.

‘The same process was then repeated with all the articles which she could

handle; and she very easily learned to place the proper labels upon them.

It was evident, however, that the only intellectual exercise was that of

imitation and memory. She recollected that the label _book_ was placed

upon a book, and she repeated the process first from imitation, next from

memory, with only the motive of love of approbation, but apparently

without the intellectual perception of any relation between the things.

‘After a while, instead of labels, the individual letters were given to

her on detached bits of paper: they were arranged side by side so as to

spell _book_, _key_, &c.; then they were mixed up in a heap and a sign

was made for her to arrange them herself so as to express the words

_book_, _key_, &c.; and she did so.

‘Hitherto, the process had been mechanical, and the success about as

great as teaching a very knowing dog a variety of tricks. The poor child

had sat in mute amazement, and patiently imitated everything her teacher

did; but now the truth began to flash upon her: her intellect began to

work: she perceived that here was a way by which she could herself make

up a sign of anything that was in her own mind, and show it to another

mind; and at once her countenance lighted up with a human expression: it

was no longer a dog, or parrot: it was an immortal spirit, eagerly

seizing upon a new link of union with other spirits! I could almost fix

upon the moment when this truth dawned upon her mind, and spread its

light to her countenance; I saw that the great obstacle was overcome; and

that henceforward nothing but patient and persevering, but plain and

straightforward, efforts were to be used.

‘The result thus far, is quickly related, and easily conceived; but not

so was the process; for many weeks of apparently unprofitable labour were

passed before it was effected.

‘When it was said above that a sign was made, it was intended to say,

that the action was performed by her teacher, she feeling his hands, and

then imitating the motion.

‘The next step was to procure a set of metal types, with the different

letters of the alphabet cast upon their ends; also a board, in which were

square holes, into which holes she could set the types; so that the

letters on their ends could alone be felt above the surface.

‘Then, on any article being handed to her, for instance, a pencil, or a

watch, she would select the component letters, and arrange them on her

board, and read them with apparent pleasure.

‘She was exercised for several weeks in this way, until her vocabulary

became extensive; and then the important step was taken of teaching her

how to represent the different letters by the position of her fingers,

instead of the cumbrous apparatus of the board and types. She

accomplished this speedily and easily, for her intellect had begun to

work in aid of her teacher, and her progress was rapid.

‘This was the period, about three months after she had commenced, that

the first report of her case was made, in which it was stated that “she

has just learned the manual alphabet, as used by the deaf mutes, and it

is a subject of delight and wonder to see how rapidly, correctly, and

eagerly, she goes on with her labours. Her teacher gives her a new

object, for instance, a pencil, first lets her examine it, and get an

idea of its use, then teaches her how to spell it by making the signs for

the letters with her own fingers: the child grasps her hand, and feels

her fingers, as the different letters are formed; she turns her head a

little on one side like a person listening closely; her lips are apart;

she seems scarcely to breathe; and her countenance, at first anxious,

gradually changes to a smile, as she comprehends the lesson. She then

holds up her tiny fingers, and spells the word in the manual alphabet;

next, she takes her types and arranges her letters; and last, to make

sure that she is right, she takes the whole of the types composing the

word, and places them upon or in contact with the pencil, or whatever the

object may be.”

‘The whole of the succeeding year was passed in gratifying her eager

inquiries for the names of every object which she could possibly handle;

in exercising her in the use of the manual alphabet; in extending in

every possible way her knowledge of the physical relations of things; and

in proper care of her health.

‘At the end of the year a report of her case was made, from which the

following is an extract.

‘“It has been ascertained beyond the possibility of doubt, that she

cannot see a ray of light, cannot hear the least sound, and never

exercises her sense of smell, if she have any. Thus her mind dwells in

darkness and stillness, as profound as that of a closed tomb at midnight.

Of beautiful sights, and sweet sounds, and pleasant odours, she has no

conception; nevertheless, she seems as happy and playful as a bird or a

lamb; and the employment of her intellectual faculties, or the

acquirement of a new idea, gives her a vivid pleasure, which is plainly

marked in her expressive features. She never seems to repine, but has

all the buoyancy and gaiety of childhood. She is fond of fun and frolic,

and when playing with the rest of the children, her shrill laugh sounds

loudest of the group.

‘“When left alone, she seems very happy if she have her knitting or

sewing, and will busy herself for hours; if she have no occupation, she

evidently amuses herself by imaginary dialogues, or by recalling past

impressions; she counts with her fingers, or spells out names of things

which she has recently learned, in the manual alphabet of the deaf mutes.

In this lonely self-communion she seems to reason, reflect, and argue; if

she spell a word wrong with the fingers of her right hand, she instantly

strikes it with her left, as her teacher does, in sign of disapprobation;

if right, then she pats herself upon the head, and looks pleased. She

sometimes purposely spells a word wrong with the left hand, looks roguish

for a moment and laughs, and then with the right hand strikes the left,

as if to correct it.

‘“During the year she has attained great dexterity in the use of the

manual alphabet of the deaf mutes; and she spells out the words and

sentences which she knows, so fast and so deftly, that only those

accustomed to this language can follow with the eye the rapid motions of

her fingers.

‘“But wonderful as is the rapidity with which she writes her thoughts

upon the air, still more so is the ease and accuracy with which she reads

the words thus written by another; grasping their hands in hers, and

following every movement of their fingers, as letter after letter conveys

their meaning to her mind. It is in this way that she converses with her

blind playmates, and nothing can more forcibly show the power of mind in

forcing matter to its purpose than a meeting between them. For if great

talent and skill are necessary for two pantomimes to paint their thoughts

and feelings by the movements of the body, and the expression of the

countenance, how much greater the difficulty when darkness shrouds them

both, and the one can hear no sound.

‘“When Laura is walking through a passage-way, with her hands spread

before her, she knows instantly every one she meets, and passes them with

a sign of recognition: but if it be a girl of her own age, and especially

if it be one of her favourites, there is instantly a bright smile of

recognition, a twining of arms, a grasping of hands, and a swift

telegraphing upon the tiny fingers; whose rapid evolutions convey the

thoughts and feelings from the outposts of one mind to those of the

other. There are questions and answers, exchanges of joy or sorrow,

there are kissings and partings, just as between little children with all

their senses.”

‘During this year, and six months after she had left home, her mother

came to visit her, and the scene of their meeting was an interesting one.

‘The mother stood some time, gazing with overflowing eyes upon her

unfortunate child, who, all unconscious of her presence, was playing

about the room. Presently Laura ran against her, and at once began

feeling her hands, examining her dress, and trying to find out if she

knew her; but not succeeding in this, she turned away as from a stranger,

and the poor woman could not conceal the pang she felt, at finding that

her beloved child did not know her.

‘She then gave Laura a string of beads which she used to wear at home,

which were recognised by the child at once, who, with much joy, put them

around her neck, and sought me eagerly to say she understood the string

was from her home.

‘The mother now sought to caress her, but poor Laura repelled her,

preferring to be with her acquaintances.

‘Another article from home was now given her, and she began to look much

interested; she examined the stranger much closer, and gave me to

understand that she knew she came from Hanover; she even endured her

caresses, but would leave her with indifference at the slightest signal.

The distress of the mother was now painful to behold; for, although she

had feared that she should not be recognised, the painful reality of

being treated with cold indifference by a darling child, was too much for

woman’s nature to bear.

‘After a while, on the mother taking hold of her again, a vague idea

seemed to flit across Laura’s mind, that this could not be a stranger;

she therefore felt her hands very eagerly, while her countenance assumed

an expression of intense interest; she became very pale; and then

suddenly red; hope seemed struggling with doubt and anxiety, and never

were contending emotions more strongly painted upon the human face: at

this moment of painful uncertainty, the mother drew her close to her

side, and kissed her fondly, when at once the truth flashed upon the

child, and all mistrust and anxiety disappeared from her face, as with an

expression of exceeding joy she eagerly nestled to the bosom of her

parent, and yielded herself to her fond embraces.

‘After this, the beads were all unheeded; the playthings which were

offered to her were utterly disregarded; her playmates, for whom but a

moment before she gladly left the stranger, now vainly strove to pull her

from her mother; and though she yielded her usual instantaneous obedience

to my signal to follow me, it was evidently with painful reluctance. She

clung close to me, as if bewildered and fearful; and when, after a

moment, I took her to her mother, she sprang to her arms, and clung to

her with eager joy.

‘The subsequent parting between them, showed alike the affection, the

intelligence, and the resolution of the child.

‘Laura accompanied her mother to the door, clinging close to her all the

way, until they arrived at the threshold, where she paused, and felt

around, to ascertain who was near her. Perceiving the matron, of whom

she is very fond, she grasped her with one hand, holding on convulsively

to her mother with the other; and thus she stood for a moment: then she

dropped her mother’s hand; put her handkerchief to her eyes; and turning

round, clung sobbing to the matron; while her mother departed, with

emotions as deep as those of her child.

* * * * * *

‘It has been remarked in former reports, that she can distinguish

different degrees of intellect in others, and that she soon regarded,

almost with contempt, a new-comer, when, after a few days, she discovered

her weakness of mind. This unamiable part of her character has been more

strongly developed during the past year.

‘She chooses for her friends and companions, those children who are

intelligent, and can talk best with her; and she evidently dislikes to be

with those who are deficient in intellect, unless, indeed, she can make

them serve her purposes, which she is evidently inclined to do. She

takes advantage of them, and makes them wait upon her, in a manner that

she knows she could not exact of others; and in various ways shows her

Saxon blood.

‘She is fond of having other children noticed and caressed by the

teachers, and those whom she respects; but this must not be carried too

far, or she becomes jealous. She wants to have her share, which, if not

the lion’s, is the greater part; and if she does not get it, she says,

“_My mother will love me_.”

‘Her tendency to imitation is so strong, that it leads her to actions

which must be entirely incomprehensible to her, and which can give her no

other pleasure than the gratification of an internal faculty. She has

been known to sit for half an hour, holding a book before her sightless

eyes, and moving her lips, as she has observed seeing people do when

reading.

‘She one day pretended that her doll was sick; and went through all the

motions of tending it, and giving it medicine; she then put it carefully

to bed, and placed a bottle of hot water to its feet, laughing all the

time most heartily. When I came home, she insisted upon my going to see

it, and feel its pulse; and when I told her to put a blister on its back,

she seemed to enjoy it amazingly, and almost screamed with delight.

‘Her social feelings, and her affections, are very strong; and when she

is sitting at work, or at her studies, by the side of one of her little

friends, she will break off from her task every few moments, to hug and

kiss them with an earnestness and warmth that is touching to behold.

‘When left alone, she occupies and apparently amuses herself, and seems

quite contented; and so strong seems to be the natural tendency of

thought to put on the garb of language, that she often soliloquizes in

the _finger language_, slow and tedious as it is. But it is only when

alone, that she is quiet: for if she becomes sensible of the presence of

any one near her, she is restless until she can sit close beside them,

hold their hand, and converse with them by signs.

‘In her intellectual character it is pleasing to observe an insatiable

thirst for knowledge, and a quick perception of the relations of things.

In her moral character, it is beautiful to behold her continual gladness,

her keen enjoyment of existence, her expansive love, her unhesitating

confidence, her sympathy with suffering, her conscientiousness,

truthfulness, and hopefulness.’

Such are a few fragments from the simple but most interesting and

instructive history of Laura Bridgman. The name of her great benefactor

and friend, who writes it, is Dr. Howe. There are not many persons, I

hope and believe, who, after reading these passages, can ever hear that

name with indifference.

A further account has been published by Dr. Howe, since the report from

which I have just quoted. It describes her rapid mental growth and

improvement during twelve months more, and brings her little history down

to the end of last year. It is very remarkable, that as we dream in

words, and carry on imaginary conversations, in which we speak both for

ourselves and for the shadows who appear to us in those visions of the

night, so she, having no words, uses her finger alphabet in her sleep.

And it has been ascertained that when her slumber is broken, and is much

disturbed by dreams, she expresses her thoughts in an irregular and

confused manner on her fingers: just as we should murmur and mutter them

indistinctly, in the like circumstances.

I turned over the leaves of her Diary, and found it written in a fair

legible square hand, and expressed in terms which were quite intelligible

without any explanation. On my saying that I should like to see her

write again, the teacher who sat beside her, bade her, in their language,

sign her name upon a slip of paper, twice or thrice. In doing so, I

observed that she kept her left hand always touching, and following up,

her right, in which, of course, she held the pen. No line was indicated

by any contrivance, but she wrote straight and freely.

She had, until now, been quite unconscious of the presence of visitors;

but, having her hand placed in that of the gentleman who accompanied me,

she immediately expressed his name upon her teacher’s palm. Indeed her

sense of touch is now so exquisite, that having been acquainted with a

person once, she can recognise him or her after almost any interval.

This gentleman had been in her company, I believe, but very seldom, and

certainly had not seen her for many months. My hand she rejected at

once, as she does that of any man who is a stranger to her. But she

retained my wife’s with evident pleasure, kissed her, and examined her

dress with a girl’s curiosity and interest.

She was merry and cheerful, and showed much innocent playfulness in her

intercourse with her teacher. Her delight on recognising a favourite

playfellow and companion—herself a blind girl—who silently, and with an

equal enjoyment of the coming surprise, took a seat beside her, was

beautiful to witness. It elicited from her at first, as other slight

circumstances did twice or thrice during my visit, an uncouth noise which

was rather painful to hear. But of her teacher touching her lips, she

immediately desisted, and embraced her laughingly and affectionately.

I had previously been into another chamber, where a number of blind boys

were swinging, and climbing, and engaged in various sports. They all

clamoured, as we entered, to the assistant-master, who accompanied us,

‘Look at me, Mr. Hart! Please, Mr. Hart, look at me!’ evincing, I

thought, even in this, an anxiety peculiar to their condition, that their

little feats of agility should be _seen_. Among them was a small

laughing fellow, who stood aloof, entertaining himself with a gymnastic

exercise for bringing the arms and chest into play; which he enjoyed

mightily; especially when, in thrusting out his right arm, he brought it

into contact with another boy. Like Laura Bridgman, this young child was

deaf, and dumb, and blind.

Dr. Howe’s account of this pupil’s first instruction is so very striking,

and so intimately connected with Laura herself, that I cannot refrain

from a short extract. I may premise that the poor boy’s name is Oliver

Caswell; that he is thirteen years of age; and that he was in full

possession of all his faculties, until three years and four months old.

He was then attacked by scarlet fever; in four weeks became deaf; in a

few weeks more, blind; in six months, dumb. He showed his anxious sense

of this last deprivation, by often feeling the lips of other persons when

they were talking, and then putting his hand upon his own, as if to

assure himself that he had them in the right position.

‘His thirst for knowledge,’ says Dr. Howe, ‘proclaimed itself as soon as

he entered the house, by his eager examination of everything he could

feel or smell in his new location. For instance, treading upon the

register of a furnace, he instantly stooped down, and began to feel it,

and soon discovered the way in which the upper plate moved upon the lower

one; but this was not enough for him, so lying down upon his face, he

applied his tongue first to one, then to the other, and seemed to

discover that they were of different kinds of metal.

‘His signs were expressive: and the strictly natural language, laughing,

crying, sighing, kissing, embracing, &c., was perfect.

‘Some of the analogical signs which (guided by his faculty of imitation)

he had contrived, were comprehensible; such as the waving motion of his

hand for the motion of a boat, the circular one for a wheel, &c.

‘The first object was to break up the use of these signs and to

substitute for them the use of purely arbitrary ones.

‘Profiting by the experience I had gained in the other cases, I omitted

several steps of the process before employed, and commenced at once with

the finger language. Taking, therefore, several articles having short

names, such as key, cup, mug, &c., and with Laura for an auxiliary, I sat

down, and taking his hand, placed it upon one of them, and then with my

own, made the letters _key_. He felt my hands eagerly with both of his,

and on my repeating the process, he evidently tried to imitate the

motions of my fingers. In a few minutes he contrived to feel the motions

of my fingers with one hand, and holding out the other he tried to

imitate them, laughing most heartily when he succeeded. Laura was by,

interested even to agitation; and the two presented a singular sight: her

face was flushed and anxious, and her fingers twining in among ours so

closely as to follow every motion, but so slightly as not to embarrass

them; while Oliver stood attentive, his head a little aside, his face

turned up, his left hand grasping mine, and his right held out: at every

motion of my fingers his countenance betokened keen attention; there was

an expression of anxiety as he tried to imitate the motions; then a smile

came stealing out as he thought he could do so, and spread into a joyous

laugh the moment he succeeded, and felt me pat his head, and Laura clap

him heartily upon the back, and jump up and down in her joy.

‘He learned more than a half-dozen letters in half an hour, and seemed

delighted with his success, at least in gaining approbation. His

attention then began to flag, and I commenced playing with him. It was

evident that in all this he had merely been imitating the motions of my

fingers, and placing his hand upon the key, cup, &c., as part of the

process, without any perception of the relation between the sign and the

object.

‘When he was tired with play I took him back to the table, and he was

quite ready to begin again his process of imitation. He soon learned to

make the letters for _key_, _pen_, _pin_; and by having the object

repeatedly placed in his hand, he at last perceived the relation I wished

to establish between them. This was evident, because, when I made the

letters _pin_, or _pen_, or _cup_, he would select the article.

‘The perception of this relation was not accompanied by that radiant

flash of intelligence, and that glow of joy, which marked the delightful

moment when Laura first perceived it. I then placed all the articles on

the table, and going away a little distance with the children, placed

Oliver’s fingers in the positions to spell _key_, on which Laura went and

brought the article: the little fellow seemed much amused by this, and

looked very attentive and smiling. I then caused him to make the letters

_bread_, and in an instant Laura went and brought him a piece: he smelled

at it; put it to his lips; cocked up his head with a most knowing look;

seemed to reflect a moment; and then laughed outright, as much as to say,

“Aha! I understand now how something may be made out of this.”

‘It was now clear that he had the capacity and inclination to learn, that

he was a proper subject for instruction, and needed only persevering

attention. I therefore put him in the hands of an intelligent teacher,

nothing doubting of his rapid progress.’

Well may this gentleman call that a delightful moment, in which some

distant promise of her present state first gleamed upon the darkened mind

of Laura Bridgman. Throughout his life, the recollection of that moment

will be to him a source of pure, unfading happiness; nor will it shine

less brightly on the evening of his days of Noble Usefulness.

The affection which exists between these two—the master and the pupil—is

as far removed from all ordinary care and regard, as the circumstances in

which it has had its growth, are apart from the common occurrences of

life. He is occupied now, in devising means of imparting to her, higher

knowledge; and of conveying to her some adequate idea of the Great

Creator of that universe in which, dark and silent and scentless though

it be to her, she has such deep delight and glad enjoyment.

Ye who have eyes and see not, and have ears and hear not; ye who are as

the hypocrites of sad countenances, and disfigure your faces that ye may

seem unto men to fast; learn healthy cheerfulness, and mild contentment,

from the deaf, and dumb, and blind! Self-elected saints with gloomy

brows, this sightless, earless, voiceless child may teach you lessons you

will do well to follow. Let that poor hand of hers lie gently on your

hearts; for there may be something in its healing touch akin to that of

the Great Master whose precepts you misconstrue, whose lessons you

pervert, of whose charity and sympathy with all the world, not one among

you in his daily practice knows as much as many of the worst among those

fallen sinners, to whom you are liberal in nothing but the preachment of

perdition!

As I rose to quit the room, a pretty little child of one of the

attendants came running in to greet its father. For the moment, a child

with eyes, among the sightless crowd, impressed me almost as painfully as

the blind boy in the porch had done, two hours ago. Ah! how much

brighter and more deeply blue, glowing and rich though it had been

before, was the scene without, contrasting with the darkness of so many

youthful lives within!

* * * * *

At SOUTH BOSTON, as it is called, in a situation excellently adapted for

the purpose, several charitable institutions are clustered together. One

of these, is the State Hospital for the insane; admirably conducted on

those enlightened principles of conciliation and kindness, which twenty

years ago would have been worse than heretical, and which have been acted

upon with so much success in our own pauper Asylum at Hanwell. ‘Evince a

desire to show some confidence, and repose some trust, even in mad

people,’ said the resident physician, as we walked along the galleries,

his patients flocking round us unrestrained. Of those who deny or doubt

the wisdom of this maxim after witnessing its effects, if there be such

people still alive, I can only say that I hope I may never be summoned as

a Juryman on a Commission of Lunacy whereof they are the subjects; for I

should certainly find them out of their senses, on such evidence alone.

Each ward in this institution is shaped like a long gallery or hall, with

the dormitories of the patients opening from it on either hand. Here

they work, read, play at skittles, and other games; and when the weather

does not admit of their taking exercise out of doors, pass the day

together. In one of these rooms, seated, calmly, and quite as a matter

of course, among a throng of mad-women, black and white, were the

physician’s wife and another lady, with a couple of children. These

ladies were graceful and handsome; and it was not difficult to perceive

at a glance that even their presence there, had a highly beneficial

influence on the patients who were grouped about them.

Leaning her head against the chimney-piece, with a great assumption of

dignity and refinement of manner, sat an elderly female, in as many

scraps of finery as Madge Wildfire herself. Her head in particular was

so strewn with scraps of gauze and cotton and bits of paper, and had so

many queer odds and ends stuck all about it, that it looked like a

bird’s-nest. She was radiant with imaginary jewels; wore a rich pair of

undoubted gold spectacles; and gracefully dropped upon her lap, as we

approached, a very old greasy newspaper, in which I dare say she had been

reading an account of her own presentation at some Foreign Court.

I have been thus particular in describing her, because she will serve to

exemplify the physician’s manner of acquiring and retaining the

confidence of his patients.

‘This,’ he said aloud, taking me by the hand, and advancing to the

fantastic figure with great politeness—not raising her suspicions by the

slightest look or whisper, or any kind of aside, to me: ‘This lady is the

hostess of this mansion, sir. It belongs to her. Nobody else has

anything whatever to do with it. It is a large establishment, as you

see, and requires a great number of attendants. She lives, you observe,

in the very first style. She is kind enough to receive my visits, and to

permit my wife and family to reside here; for which it is hardly

necessary to say, we are much indebted to her. She is exceedingly

courteous, you perceive,’ on this hint she bowed condescendingly, ‘and

will permit me to have the pleasure of introducing you: a gentleman from

England, Ma’am: newly arrived from England, after a very tempestuous

passage: Mr. Dickens,—the lady of the house!’

We exchanged the most dignified salutations with profound gravity and

respect, and so went on. The rest of the madwomen seemed to understand

the joke perfectly (not only in this case, but in all the others, except

their own), and be highly amused by it. The nature of their several

kinds of insanity was made known to me in the same way, and we left each

of them in high good humour. Not only is a thorough confidence

established, by those means, between the physician and patient, in

respect of the nature and extent of their hallucinations, but it is easy

to understand that opportunities are afforded for seizing any moment of

reason, to startle them by placing their own delusion before them in its

most incongruous and ridiculous light.

Every patient in this asylum sits down to dinner every day with a knife

and fork; and in the midst of them sits the gentleman, whose manner of

dealing with his charges, I have just described. At every meal, moral

influence alone restrains the more violent among them from cutting the

throats of the rest; but the effect of that influence is reduced to an

absolute certainty, and is found, even as a means of restraint, to say

nothing of it as a means of cure, a hundred times more efficacious than

all the strait-waistcoats, fetters, and handcuffs, that ignorance,

prejudice, and cruelty have manufactured since the creation of the world.

In the labour department, every patient is as freely trusted with the

tools of his trade as if he were a sane man. In the garden, and on the

farm, they work with spades, rakes, and hoes. For amusement, they walk,

run, fish, paint, read, and ride out to take the air in carriages

provided for the purpose. They have among themselves a sewing society to

make clothes for the poor, which holds meetings, passes resolutions,

never comes to fisty-cuffs or bowie-knives as sane assemblies have been

known to do elsewhere; and conducts all its proceedings with the greatest

decorum. The irritability, which would otherwise be expended on their

own flesh, clothes, and furniture, is dissipated in these pursuits. They

are cheerful, tranquil, and healthy.

Once a week they have a ball, in which the Doctor and his family, with

all the nurses and attendants, take an active part. Dances and marches

are performed alternately, to the enlivening strains of a piano; and now

and then some gentleman or lady (whose proficiency has been previously

ascertained) obliges the company with a song: nor does it ever

degenerate, at a tender crisis, into a screech or howl; wherein, I must

confess, I should have thought the danger lay. At an early hour they all

meet together for these festive purposes; at eight o’clock refreshments

are served; and at nine they separate.

Immense politeness and good breeding are observed throughout. They all

take their tone from the Doctor; and he moves a very Chesterfield among

the company. Like other assemblies, these entertainments afford a

fruitful topic of conversation among the ladies for some days; and the

gentlemen are so anxious to shine on these occasions, that they have been

sometimes found ‘practising their steps’ in private, to cut a more

distinguished figure in the dance.

It is obvious that one great feature of this system, is the inculcation

and encouragement, even among such unhappy persons, of a decent

self-respect. Something of the same spirit pervades all the Institutions

at South Boston.

There is the House of Industry. In that branch of it, which is devoted

to the reception of old or otherwise helpless paupers, these words are

painted on the walls: ‘WORTHY OF NOTICE. SELF-GOVERNMENT, QUIETUDE, AND

PEACE, ARE BLESSINGS.’ It is not assumed and taken for granted that

being there they must be evil-disposed and wicked people, before whose

vicious eyes it is necessary to flourish threats and harsh restraints.

They are met at the very threshold with this mild appeal. All

within-doors is very plain and simple, as it ought to be, but arranged

with a view to peace and comfort. It costs no more than any other plan

of arrangement, but it speaks an amount of consideration for those who

are reduced to seek a shelter there, which puts them at once upon their

gratitude and good behaviour. Instead of being parcelled out in great,

long, rambling wards, where a certain amount of weazen life may mope, and

pine, and shiver, all day long, the building is divided into separate

rooms, each with its share of light and air. In these, the better kind

of paupers live. They have a motive for exertion and becoming pride, in

the desire to make these little chambers comfortable and decent.

I do not remember one but it was clean and neat, and had its plant or two

upon the window-sill, or row of crockery upon the shelf, or small display

of coloured prints upon the whitewashed wall, or, perhaps, its wooden

clock behind the door.

The orphans and young children are in an adjoining building separate from

this, but a part of the same Institution. Some are such little

creatures, that the stairs are of Lilliputian measurement, fitted to

their tiny strides. The same consideration for their years and weakness

is expressed in their very seats, which are perfect curiosities, and look

like articles of furniture for a pauper doll’s-house. I can imagine the

glee of our Poor Law Commissioners at the notion of these seats having

arms and backs; but small spines being of older date than their

occupation of the Board-room at Somerset House, I thought even this

provision very merciful and kind.

Here again, I was greatly pleased with the inscriptions on the wall,

which were scraps of plain morality, easily remembered and understood:

such as ‘Love one another’—‘God remembers the smallest creature in his

creation:’ and straightforward advice of that nature. The books and

tasks of these smallest of scholars, were adapted, in the same judicious

manner, to their childish powers. When we had examined these lessons,

four morsels of girls (of whom one was blind) sang a little song, about

the merry month of May, which I thought (being extremely dismal) would

have suited an English November better. That done, we went to see their

sleeping-rooms on the floor above, in which the arrangements were no less

excellent and gentle than those we had seen below. And after observing

that the teachers were of a class and character well suited to the spirit

of the place, I took leave of the infants with a lighter heart than ever

I have taken leave of pauper infants yet.

Connected with the House of Industry, there is also an Hospital, which

was in the best order, and had, I am glad to say, many beds unoccupied.

It had one fault, however, which is common to all American interiors: the

presence of the eternal, accursed, suffocating, red-hot demon of a stove,

whose breath would blight the purest air under Heaven.

There are two establishments for boys in this same neighbourhood. One is

called the Boylston school, and is an asylum for neglected and indigent

boys who have committed no crime, but who in the ordinary course of

things would very soon be purged of that distinction if they were not

taken from the hungry streets and sent here. The other is a House of

Reformation for Juvenile Offenders. They are both under the same roof,

but the two classes of boys never come in contact.

The Boylston boys, as may be readily supposed, have very much the

advantage of the others in point of personal appearance. They were in

their school-room when I came upon them, and answered correctly, without

book, such questions as where was England; how far was it; what was its

population; its capital city; its form of government; and so forth. They

sang a song too, about a farmer sowing his seed: with corresponding

action at such parts as ‘’tis thus he sows,’ ‘he turns him round,’ ‘he

claps his hands;’ which gave it greater interest for them, and accustomed

them to act together, in an orderly manner. They appeared exceedingly

well-taught, and not better taught than fed; for a more chubby-looking

full-waistcoated set of boys, I never saw.

The juvenile offenders had not such pleasant faces by a great deal, and

in this establishment there were many boys of colour. I saw them first

at their work (basket-making, and the manufacture of palm-leaf hats),

afterwards in their school, where they sang a chorus in praise of

Liberty: an odd, and, one would think, rather aggravating, theme for

prisoners. These boys are divided into four classes, each denoted by a

numeral, worn on a badge upon the arm. On the arrival of a new-comer, he

is put into the fourth or lowest class, and left, by good behaviour, to

work his way up into the first. The design and object of this

Institution is to reclaim the youthful criminal by firm but kind and

judicious treatment; to make his prison a place of purification and

improvement, not of demoralisation and corruption; to impress upon him

that there is but one path, and that one sober industry, which can ever

lead him to happiness; to teach him how it may be trodden, if his

footsteps have never yet been led that way; and to lure him back to it if

they have strayed: in a word, to snatch him from destruction, and restore

him to society a penitent and useful member. The importance of such an

establishment, in every point of view, and with reference to every

consideration of humanity and social policy, requires no comment.

One other establishment closes the catalogue. It is the House of

Correction for the State, in which silence is strictly maintained, but

where the prisoners have the comfort and mental relief of seeing each

other, and of working together. This is the improved system of Prison

Discipline which we have imported into England, and which has been in

successful operation among us for some years past.

America, as a new and not over-populated country, has in all her prisons,

the one great advantage, of being enabled to find useful and profitable

work for the inmates; whereas, with us, the prejudice against prison

labour is naturally very strong, and almost insurmountable, when honest

men who have not offended against the laws are frequently doomed to seek

employment in vain. Even in the United States, the principle of bringing

convict labour and free labour into a competition which must obviously be

to the disadvantage of the latter, has already found many opponents,

whose number is not likely to diminish with access of years.

For this very reason though, our best prisons would seem at the first

glance to be better conducted than those of America. The treadmill is

conducted with little or no noise; five hundred men may pick oakum in the

same room, without a sound; and both kinds of labour admit of such keen

and vigilant superintendence, as will render even a word of personal

communication amongst the prisoners almost impossible. On the other

hand, the noise of the loom, the forge, the carpenter’s hammer, or the

stonemason’s saw, greatly favour those opportunities of

intercourse—hurried and brief no doubt, but opportunities still—which

these several kinds of work, by rendering it necessary for men to be

employed very near to each other, and often side by side, without any

barrier or partition between them, in their very nature present. A

visitor, too, requires to reason and reflect a little, before the sight

of a number of men engaged in ordinary labour, such as he is accustomed

to out of doors, will impress him half as strongly as the contemplation

of the same persons in the same place and garb would, if they were

occupied in some task, marked and degraded everywhere as belonging only

to felons in jails. In an American state prison or house of correction,

I found it difficult at first to persuade myself that I was really in a

jail: a place of ignominious punishment and endurance. And to this hour

I very much question whether the humane boast that it is not like one,

has its root in the true wisdom or philosophy of the matter.

I hope I may not be misunderstood on this subject, for it is one in which

I take a strong and deep interest. I incline as little to the sickly

feeling which makes every canting lie or maudlin speech of a notorious

criminal a subject of newspaper report and general sympathy, as I do to

those good old customs of the good old times which made England, even so

recently as in the reign of the Third King George, in respect of her

criminal code and her prison regulations, one of the most bloody-minded

and barbarous countries on the earth. If I thought it would do any good

to the rising generation, I would cheerfully give my consent to the

disinterment of the bones of any genteel highwayman (the more genteel,

the more cheerfully), and to their exposure, piecemeal, on any sign-post,

gate, or gibbet, that might be deemed a good elevation for the purpose.

My reason is as well convinced that these gentry were as utterly

worthless and debauched villains, as it is that the laws and jails

hardened them in their evil courses, or that their wonderful escapes were

effected by the prison-turnkeys who, in those admirable days, had always

been felons themselves, and were, to the last, their bosom-friends and

pot-companions. At the same time I know, as all men do or should, that

the subject of Prison Discipline is one of the highest importance to any

community; and that in her sweeping reform and bright example to other

countries on this head, America has shown great wisdom, great

benevolence, and exalted policy. In contrasting her system with that

which we have modelled upon it, I merely seek to show that with all its

drawbacks, ours has some advantages of its own.

The House of Correction which has led to these remarks, is not walled,

like other prisons, but is palisaded round about with tall rough stakes,

something after the manner of an enclosure for keeping elephants in, as

we see it represented in Eastern prints and pictures. The prisoners wear

a parti-coloured dress; and those who are sentenced to hard labour, work

at nail-making, or stone-cutting. When I was there, the latter class of

labourers were employed upon the stone for a new custom-house in course

of erection at Boston. They appeared to shape it skilfully and with

expedition, though there were very few among them (if any) who had not

acquired the art within the prison gates.

The women, all in one large room, were employed in making light clothing,

for New Orleans and the Southern States. They did their work in silence

like the men; and like them were over-looked by the person contracting

for their labour, or by some agent of his appointment. In addition to

this, they are every moment liable to be visited by the prison officers

appointed for that purpose.

The arrangements for cooking, washing of clothes, and so forth, are much

upon the plan of those I have seen at home. Their mode of bestowing the

prisoners at night (which is of general adoption) differs from ours, and

is both simple and effective. In the centre of a lofty area, lighted by

windows in the four walls, are five tiers of cells, one above the other;

each tier having before it a light iron gallery, attainable by stairs of

the same construction and material: excepting the lower one, which is on

the ground. Behind these, back to back with them and facing the opposite

wall, are five corresponding rows of cells, accessible by similar means:

so that supposing the prisoners locked up in their cells, an officer

stationed on the ground, with his back to the wall, has half their number

under his eye at once; the remaining half being equally under the

observation of another officer on the opposite side; and all in one great

apartment. Unless this watch be corrupted or sleeping on his post, it is

impossible for a man to escape; for even in the event of his forcing the

iron door of his cell without noise (which is exceedingly improbable),

the moment he appears outside, and steps into that one of the five

galleries on which it is situated, he must be plainly and fully visible

to the officer below. Each of these cells holds a small truckle bed, in

which one prisoner sleeps; never more. It is small, of course; and the

door being not solid, but grated, and without blind or curtain, the

prisoner within is at all times exposed to the observation and inspection

of any guard who may pass along that tier at any hour or minute of the

night. Every day, the prisoners receive their dinner, singly, through a

trap in the kitchen wall; and each man carries his to his sleeping cell

to eat it, where he is locked up, alone, for that purpose, one hour. The

whole of this arrangement struck me as being admirable; and I hope that

the next new prison we erect in England may be built on this plan.

I was given to understand that in this prison no swords or fire-arms, or

even cudgels, are kept; nor is it probable that, so long as its present

excellent management continues, any weapon, offensive or defensive, will

ever be required within its bounds.

Such are the Institutions at South Boston! In all of them, the

unfortunate or degenerate citizens of the State are carefully instructed

in their duties both to God and man; are surrounded by all reasonable

means of comfort and happiness that their condition will admit of; are

appealed to, as members of the great human family, however afflicted,

indigent, or fallen; are ruled by the strong Heart, and not by the strong

(though immeasurably weaker) Hand. I have described them at some length;

firstly, because their worth demanded it; and secondly, because I mean to

take them for a model, and to content myself with saying of others we may

come to, whose design and purpose are the same, that in this or that

respect they practically fail, or differ.

I wish by this account of them, imperfect in its execution, but in its

just intention, honest, I could hope to convey to my readers

one-hundredth part of the gratification, the sights I have described,

afforded me.

* * * * *

To an Englishman, accustomed to the paraphernalia of Westminster Hall, an

American Court of Law is as odd a sight as, I suppose, an English Court

of Law would be to an American. Except in the Supreme Court at

Washington (where the judges wear a plain black robe), there is no such

thing as a wig or gown connected with the administration of justice. The

gentlemen of the bar being barristers and attorneys too (for there is no

division of those functions as in England) are no more removed from their

clients than attorneys in our Court for the Relief of Insolvent Debtors

are, from theirs. The jury are quite at home, and make themselves as

comfortable as circumstances will permit. The witness is so little

elevated above, or put aloof from, the crowd in the court, that a

stranger entering during a pause in the proceedings would find it

difficult to pick him out from the rest. And if it chanced to be a

criminal trial, his eyes, in nine cases out of ten, would wander to the

dock in search of the prisoner, in vain; for that gentleman would most

likely be lounging among the most distinguished ornaments of the legal

profession, whispering suggestions in his counsel’s ear, or making a

toothpick out of an old quill with his penknife.

I could not but notice these differences, when I visited the courts at

Boston. I was much surprised at first, too, to observe that the counsel

who interrogated the witness under examination at the time, did so

_sitting_. But seeing that he was also occupied in writing down the

answers, and remembering that he was alone and had no ‘junior,’ I quickly

consoled myself with the reflection that law was not quite so expensive

an article here, as at home; and that the absence of sundry formalities

which we regard as indispensable, had doubtless a very favourable

influence upon the bill of costs.

In every Court, ample and commodious provision is made for the

accommodation of the citizens. This is the case all through America. In

every Public Institution, the right of the people to attend, and to have

an interest in the proceedings, is most fully and distinctly recognised.

There are no grim door-keepers to dole out their tardy civility by the

sixpenny-worth; nor is there, I sincerely believe, any insolence of

office of any kind. Nothing national is exhibited for money; and no

public officer is a showman. We have begun of late years to imitate this

good example. I hope we shall continue to do so; and that in the fulness

of time, even deans and chapters may be converted.

In the civil court an action was trying, for damages sustained in some

accident upon a railway. The witnesses had been examined, and counsel

was addressing the jury. The learned gentleman (like a few of his

English brethren) was desperately long-winded, and had a remarkable

capacity of saying the same thing over and over again. His great theme

was ‘Warren the ěn_gine_ driver,’ whom he pressed into the service of

every sentence he uttered. I listened to him for about a quarter of an

hour; and, coming out of court at the expiration of that time, without

the faintest ray of enlightenment as to the merits of the case, felt as

if I were at home again.

In the prisoner’s cell, waiting to be examined by the magistrate on a

charge of theft, was a boy. This lad, instead of being committed to a

common jail, would be sent to the asylum at South Boston, and there

taught a trade; and in the course of time he would be bound apprentice to

some respectable master. Thus, his detection in this offence, instead of

being the prelude to a life of infamy and a miserable death, would lead,

there was a reasonable hope, to his being reclaimed from vice, and

becoming a worthy member of society.

I am by no means a wholesale admirer of our legal solemnities, many of

which impress me as being exceedingly ludicrous. Strange as it may seem

too, there is undoubtedly a degree of protection in the wig and gown—a

dismissal of individual responsibility in dressing for the part—which

encourages that insolent bearing and language, and that gross perversion

of the office of a pleader for The Truth, so frequent in our courts of

law. Still, I cannot help doubting whether America, in her desire to

shake off the absurdities and abuses of the old system, may not have gone

too far into the opposite extreme; and whether it is not desirable,

especially in the small community of a city like this, where each man

knows the other, to surround the administration of justice with some

artificial barriers against the ‘Hail fellow, well met’ deportment of

everyday life. All the aid it can have in the very high character and

ability of the Bench, not only here but elsewhere, it has, and well

deserves to have; but it may need something more: not to impress the

thoughtful and the well-informed, but the ignorant and heedless; a class

which includes some prisoners and many witnesses. These institutions

were established, no doubt, upon the principle that those who had so

large a share in making the laws, would certainly respect them. But

experience has proved this hope to be fallacious; for no men know better

than the judges of America, that on the occasion of any great popular

excitement the law is powerless, and cannot, for the time, assert its own

supremacy.

The tone of society in Boston is one of perfect politeness, courtesy, and

good breeding. The ladies are unquestionably very beautiful—in face: but

there I am compelled to stop. Their education is much as with us;

neither better nor worse. I had heard some very marvellous stories in

this respect; but not believing them, was not disappointed. Blue ladies

there are, in Boston; but like philosophers of that colour and sex in

most other latitudes, they rather desire to be thought superior than to

be so. Evangelical ladies there are, likewise, whose attachment to the

forms of religion, and horror of theatrical entertainments, are most

exemplary. Ladies who have a passion for attending lectures are to be

found among all classes and all conditions. In the kind of provincial

life which prevails in cities such as this, the Pulpit has great

influence. The peculiar province of the Pulpit in New England (always

excepting the Unitarian Ministry) would appear to be the denouncement of

all innocent and rational amusements. The church, the chapel, and the

lecture-room, are the only means of excitement excepted; and to the

church, the chapel, and the lecture-room, the ladies resort in crowds.

Wherever religion is resorted to, as a strong drink, and as an escape

from the dull monotonous round of home, those of its ministers who pepper

the highest will be the surest to please. They who strew the Eternal

Path with the greatest amount of brimstone, and who most ruthlessly tread

down the flowers and leaves that grow by the wayside, will be voted the

most righteous; and they who enlarge with the greatest pertinacity on the

difficulty of getting into heaven, will be considered by all true

believers certain of going there: though it would be hard to say by what

process of reasoning this conclusion is arrived at. It is so at home,

and it is so abroad. With regard to the other means of excitement, the

Lecture, it has at least the merit of being always new. One lecture

treads so quickly on the heels of another, that none are remembered; and

the course of this month may be safely repeated next, with its charm of

novelty unbroken, and its interest unabated.

The fruits of the earth have their growth in corruption. Out of the

rottenness of these things, there has sprung up in Boston a sect of

philosophers known as Transcendentalists. On inquiring what this

appellation might be supposed to signify, I was given to understand that

whatever was unintelligible would be certainly transcendental. Not

deriving much comfort from this elucidation, I pursued the inquiry still

further, and found that the Transcendentalists are followers of my friend

Mr. Carlyle, or I should rather say, of a follower of his, Mr. Ralph

Waldo Emerson. This gentleman has written a volume of Essays, in which,

among much that is dreamy and fanciful (if he will pardon me for saying

so), there is much more that is true and manly, honest and bold.

Transcendentalism has its occasional vagaries (what school has not?), but

it has good healthful qualities in spite of them; not least among the

number a hearty disgust of Cant, and an aptitude to detect her in all the

million varieties of her everlasting wardrobe. And therefore if I were a

Bostonian, I think I would be a Transcendentalist.

The only preacher I heard in Boston was Mr. Taylor, who addresses himself

peculiarly to seamen, and who was once a mariner himself. I found his

chapel down among the shipping, in one of the narrow, old, water-side

streets, with a gay blue flag waving freely from its roof. In the

gallery opposite to the pulpit were a little choir of male and female

singers, a violoncello, and a violin. The preacher already sat in the

pulpit, which was raised on pillars, and ornamented behind him with

painted drapery of a lively and somewhat theatrical appearance. He

looked a weather-beaten hard-featured man, of about six or eight and

fifty; with deep lines graven as it were into his face, dark hair, and a

stern, keen eye. Yet the general character of his countenance was

pleasant and agreeable. The service commenced with a hymn, to which

succeeded an extemporary prayer. It had the fault of frequent

repetition, incidental to all such prayers; but it was plain and

comprehensive in its doctrines, and breathed a tone of general sympathy

and charity, which is not so commonly a characteristic of this form of

address to the Deity as it might be. That done he opened his discourse,

taking for his text a passage from the Song of Solomon, laid upon the

desk before the commencement of the service by some unknown member of the

congregation: ‘Who is this coming up from the wilderness, leaning on the

arm of her beloved!’

He handled his text in all kinds of ways, and twisted it into all manner

of shapes; but always ingeniously, and with a rude eloquence, well

adapted to the comprehension of his hearers. Indeed if I be not

mistaken, he studied their sympathies and understandings much more than

the display of his own powers. His imagery was all drawn from the sea,

and from the incidents of a seaman’s life; and was often remarkably good.

He spoke to them of ‘that glorious man, Lord Nelson,’ and of Collingwood;

and drew nothing in, as the saying is, by the head and shoulders, but

brought it to bear upon his purpose, naturally, and with a sharp mind to

its effect. Sometimes, when much excited with his subject, he had an odd

way—compounded of John Bunyan, and Balfour of Burley—of taking his great

quarto Bible under his arm and pacing up and down the pulpit with it;

looking steadily down, meantime, into the midst of the congregation.

Thus, when he applied his text to the first assemblage of his hearers,

and pictured the wonder of the church at their presumption in forming a

congregation among themselves, he stopped short with his Bible under his

arm in the manner I have described, and pursued his discourse after this

manner:

‘Who are these—who are they—who are these fellows? where do they come

from? Where are they going to?—Come from! What’s the answer?’—leaning

out of the pulpit, and pointing downward with his right hand: ‘From

below!’—starting back again, and looking at the sailors before him: ‘From

below, my brethren. From under the hatches of sin, battened down above

you by the evil one. That’s where you came from!’—a walk up and down the

pulpit: ‘and where are you going’—stopping abruptly: ‘where are you

going? Aloft!’—very softly, and pointing upward: ‘Aloft!’—louder:

‘aloft!’—louder still: ‘That’s where you are going—with a fair wind,—all

taut and trim, steering direct for Heaven in its glory, where there are

no storms or foul weather, and where the wicked cease from troubling, and

the weary are at rest.’—Another walk: ‘That’s where you’re going to, my

friends. That’s it. That’s the place. That’s the port. That’s the

haven. It’s a blessed harbour—still water there, in all changes of the

winds and tides; no driving ashore upon the rocks, or slipping your

cables and running out to sea, there: Peace—Peace—Peace—all

peace!’—Another walk, and patting the Bible under his left arm: ‘What!

These fellows are coming from the wilderness, are they? Yes. From the

dreary, blighted wilderness of Iniquity, whose only crop is Death. But

do they lean upon anything—do they lean upon nothing, these poor

seamen?’—Three raps upon the Bible: ‘Oh yes.—Yes.—They lean upon the arm

of their Beloved’—three more raps: ‘upon the arm of their Beloved’—three

more, and a walk: ‘Pilot, guiding-star, and compass, all in one, to all

hands—here it is’—three more: ‘Here it is. They can do their seaman’s

duty manfully, and be easy in their minds in the utmost peril and danger,

with this’—two more: ‘They can come, even these poor fellows can come,

from the wilderness leaning on the arm of their Beloved, and go

up—up—up!’—raising his hand higher, and higher, at every repetition of

the word, so that he stood with it at last stretched above his head,

regarding them in a strange, rapt manner, and pressing the book

triumphantly to his breast, until he gradually subsided into some other

portion of his discourse.

I have cited this, rather as an instance of the preacher’s eccentricities

than his merits, though taken in connection with his look and manner, and

the character of his audience, even this was striking. It is possible,

however, that my favourable impression of him may have been greatly

influenced and strengthened, firstly, by his impressing upon his hearers

that the true observance of religion was not inconsistent with a cheerful

deportment and an exact discharge of the duties of their station, which,

indeed, it scrupulously required of them; and secondly, by his cautioning

them not to set up any monopoly in Paradise and its mercies. I never

heard these two points so wisely touched (if indeed I have ever heard

them touched at all), by any preacher of that kind before.

Having passed the time I spent in Boston, in making myself acquainted

with these things, in settling the course I should take in my future

travels, and in mixing constantly with its society, I am not aware that I

have any occasion to prolong this chapter. Such of its social customs as

I have not mentioned, however, may be told in a very few words.

The usual dinner-hour is two o’clock. A dinner party takes place at

five; and at an evening party, they seldom sup later than eleven; so that

it goes hard but one gets home, even from a rout, by midnight. I never

could find out any difference between a party at Boston and a party in

London, saving that at the former place all assemblies are held at more

rational hours; that the conversation may possibly be a little louder and

more cheerful; and a guest is usually expected to ascend to the very top

of the house to take his cloak off; that he is certain to see, at every

dinner, an unusual amount of poultry on the table; and at every supper,

at least two mighty bowls of hot stewed oysters, in any one of which a

half-grown Duke of Clarence might be smothered easily.

There are two theatres in Boston, of good size and construction, but

sadly in want of patronage. The few ladies who resort to them, sit, as

of right, in the front rows of the boxes.

The bar is a large room with a stone floor, and there people stand and

smoke, and lounge about, all the evening: dropping in and out as the

humour takes them. There too the stranger is initiated into the

mysteries of Gin-sling, Cock-tail, Sangaree, Mint Julep, Sherry-cobbler,

Timber Doodle, and other rare drinks. The house is full of boarders,

both married and single, many of whom sleep upon the premises, and

contract by the week for their board and lodging: the charge for which

diminishes as they go nearer the sky to roost. A public table is laid in

a very handsome hall for breakfast, and for dinner, and for supper. The

party sitting down together to these meals will vary in number from one

to two hundred: sometimes more. The advent of each of these epochs in

the day is proclaimed by an awful gong, which shakes the very

window-frames as it reverberates through the house, and horribly disturbs

nervous foreigners. There is an ordinary for ladies, and an ordinary for

gentlemen.

In our private room the cloth could not, for any earthly consideration,

have been laid for dinner without a huge glass dish of cranberries in the

middle of the table; and breakfast would have been no breakfast unless

the principal dish were a deformed beef-steak with a great flat bone in

the centre, swimming in hot butter, and sprinkled with the very blackest

of all possible pepper. Our bedroom was spacious and airy, but (like

every bedroom on this side of the Atlantic) very bare of furniture,

having no curtains to the French bedstead or to the window. It had one

unusual luxury, however, in the shape of a wardrobe of painted wood,

something smaller than an English watch-box; or if this comparison should

be insufficient to convey a just idea of its dimensions, they may be

estimated from the fact of my having lived for fourteen days and nights

in the firm belief that it was a shower-bath.