blacks pursue a course that will tend to their lasting advantage.
There is no great urgency, on their own accounts, that abolition
should be immediate; and I do not hesitate to pronounce the sympathy
false and perverted, which dwells on the miseries of their situation.
If we except the lot itself, their condition is far better than
it would be were they freed; and infinitely better than that of
our city blacks, or even many of our laboring whites. That their
being slaves is a sufficient cause for discontent, I admit, did
they consider it so. The mass, however, know and think nothing
about it. They recollect nothing else, and therefore the loss of
liberty is scarcely a deprivation. Servitude of any sort is a
grievous yoke; it is hard to be poor; yet none but visionaries ever
indulge in the Utopian scheme of a perfect happiness. That slavery
is an evil, that it is a great and a growing evil, none who think
at all on the subject can deny; slave-holders themselves are well
convinced of this truth, and many of them would rejoice to have
the evil removed, could proper means be devised, independently of
robbing them of their lawful property. They cannot consent to make
themselves and their children beggars, which would be the case,
were slavery immediately abolished; for without a sufficient force
to work their land, it is worth nothing. My own opinion coincides
with that of Paley: 'The emancipation of slaves should be gradual,
and be carried on by provisions of law, and under the protection of
civil government. Christianity can only operate as an alternative.
By the mild diffusion of its light and influence, the minds of men
are insensibly prepared to perceive and correct the enormities
which folly, or wickedness, or accident, have introduced into their
public establishments. In this way, the Greek and Roman slavery,
and since these, the feudal tyranny, has declined before it. And
we trust that, as the knowledge and authority of the same religion
advance in the world, they will banish what remains of this odious
institution.' This opinion, I am aware, does not accord with the
schemes of the reformers of the present age. They wish to reap the
reward of their exertions in their own day; no matter what individual
loss or suffering it may occasion to whites; no matter what injury
accrues to a million and a half of ignorant, improvident blacks, let
loose upon society without a motive, a principle to guide them, or
a desire above the fulfilment of their animal wants. 'The world is
wrong, all wrong!' cries out an hundred reformers. That it is mad,
on certain subjects, I verily believe. One sect announce that their
own peculiar religious tenets will alone make man happy here, and
wise unto salvation, and denounce the rest of the world as lost, and
that their teachers knowingly delude their followers. Another party
are so zealous in the cause of temperance, that they are the most
intemperate fanatics out of bedlam. Others, again, oppose the march
of Catholicism, and their cry is, 'Popery! popery!--our country will
become priest-ridden; we must put down popery, at whatever cost.'
But by far the greater number are weeping over the sorrows, not of
Werter, but of the 'poor blacks,' who are fostered, fed, and kindly
treated, in return for their services. Thus wags the world; each
man has his hobby, in riding which, it would be well for him not to
trample on the rights of his neighbor.
THE TIMES.
'THE times! the times!'--the burden of that sound
Falls ever on my ear, most dismally;
And as from rock to hill its echoes bound,
I ask my heart, 'And can it truly be,
That 'Providence, which oft afflicts the just,'
Has fore-ordain'd that all the banks should _bu'st_?'
'The times! the times!'--the cry of terror goes
From field to field, o'er mountain, vale, and glen,
And in a thousand anguish'd accents flows
From half the 'doubting, doting' sons of men;
While they are joined the cadence of the hymn in,
By half the girls, and all of the old women.
Though these be days of steam-revolving pistons,
And labor-saving tools, of every kind,
Yet do we moderns slay our own Philistines,
Much in the manner you may call to mind
Of him of yore, who, neither weak nor lazy,
Abstracted, one dark night, the gate of Gaza.
Yea, prophets prophecy, and dreamers dream,
While stupid men look on in wild derision,
Nor things of sober earnestness they deem
The workings of each cabalistic vision,
Which tells the causes of the things that ail 'em,
As clearly as the ass explained to Balaam.
''Tis for your sins!'--as Pollux link'd with Castor
Is ever seen, so guilt with punishment;
Each mortal sin provokes a fresh bank 'plaster,'
Precisely at the rate of cent per cent.
Oh! deeds of crime, at which the bosom sickens.
Ye've hatch'd indeed a pretty brood of chickens!
'Twas not for nought we made the Indians shank it,
Far to the westward of the Mountains Rocky;
While a tobacco-pipe, and three-point blanket
Was all the guerdon of each hapless jockey:
Fancy the march in dioramic views,
Ye who have seen the 'Exit of the Jews!'
The negroes! Hold we not this seed of Ham's
In durance, equally inhuman, fully,
To that which brought old Pharaoh to the clams?
And why? Because their occiputs are woolly;
Their lips are thick; their cheeks display no roses:
And then, to cap the climax, oh! what noses!
And meanwhile, drunkenness, on every hand,
Hath rear'd her gilded shrines, and never rested;
Till now, within the borders of the land,
The only _draughts_ that don't come back 'protested,'
But currently are taken, till the stock fails,
Are alcoholic potions, christen'd 'cock-tails.'
And thus, while crime hath spread with stride portentous,
Pray is it strange that evil o'er us lingers?
That 'lots' of retribution have been sent us;
And blessing (in disguise!) slip through our fingers;
While ever and anon bursts some new bubble,
To throw us neck and heels again in trouble?
My country! thou art sick, and very bilious,
From feeding high, and working very little,
Whereby thou hast become quite supercilious,
And, through the passing richness of thy victual,
'Wax'd fat, like Jeshurun,' that noted kicker,
In token of his wholesome meat and liquor.
The sickness hath no bounds; alack! there bobs not
A head, the holder of a limb unruly,
Betwixt Ponchartrain and the fair Penobscot,
That hath not told the tale of terror duly
To scores of friends, in sympathizing masses;
Like him of Uz who own'd the sheep and asses.
And I, like 'Eliphaz the Temanite,'
Would merely say, that on this mundane globe,
'As sparks tend ever upward in their flight,'
(A fact familiar both to him and Job,)
'So man is born to misery' of some sort,
And this was all the hapless patriarch's comfort.
But as the hand of Time healed all his woes,
And raised another batch of pigs and asses,
So will its kindly influence interpose,
With crops of rice, tobacco, and molasses,
To dry thy tears, to bid thy murmurs cease,
And bring again the days of palmy peace!
_Wilmington, (Del.,) September, 1837._
RANDOM PASSAGES
FROM ROUGH NOTES OF A VISIT TO ENGLAND, SCOTLAND, FRANCE,
SWITZERLAND, AND GERMANY.
NUMBER FIVE.
PARIS, (CONCLUDED)--SWITZERLAND.
I HAVE marvelled at nothing more, in Paris, than the rarity of female
beauty. I have been in the Boulevards, and other fashionable resorts,
at fashionable hours, many a time and oft; but I do not recollect
having seen a single French woman decidedly pretty. In some of the
galleries, I observed occasionally a lady who might be called so,
but they always proved to be English. It seemed more singular, as
the prevalent notions of Paris with us led me to expect a brilliant
display 'in this line.' But if the French damsels are deficient
in personal attractions, they certainly are not in graceful and
fascinating manners; and this remark will apply almost equally to the
peasant girl and the queen. The style of dress of the Parisian ladies
seemed to me very neat, simple, and tasteful, and certainly much less
_showy_ than that of the belles of Gotham, who, it must be owned, are
apt to be somewhat _ultra_ in the _extremes_ of foreign fashions.
There is sound policy, no doubt, in the practice of employing young
women as clerks in the shops; they certainly have an irresistible
way of recommending their wares, charming you by their ineffable
sweetness and apparent naïveté, while they draw as liberally as
possible on your purse.
They have a queer way of naming, or _dedicating_ their shops; such
as 'à la belles, Anglaise,' 'à la ville de New-York,' etc. In many
of them there is a notification that the prices are _fixed_ and
unchangeable; but I understand they generally take care that the
_Anglaise_, (who seem to be proverbial as a wealthy nation,) shall
pay a suitable advance. '_Combien?_' proves to be a very useful
word, and answers just as well as '_Quel est le prix?_' The bill of
fare at the restaurants is quite a curiosity. You may have, in the
medium establishments, an excellent dinner for twenty-five or thirty
cents, including two or three 'plates,' and a choice from nearly
one hundred and fifty, beside the dessert and the _vin ordinaire_.
Omnibuses originated in Paris; and they are now very abundant,
convenient, and cheap. You may ride from the Gobelins to Mont Mâitre,
about four miles, for six sous; and if you wish to stop on the way,
they will give you, gratis, a _correspondence-ticket_ to proceed.
They are regulated by government, and taxed and licensed for so many
passengers.
While admiring the palaces and public buildings in Paris, one cannot
but be surprised that the meanest huts should be permitted to remain
in their immediate neighborhood, as at the Louvre, Tuilleries,
Luxembourg, and the palace of the Institute, where bits of
book-stalls and shoe-makers' shops are placed against the very walls
of those stately edifices.
An American, of course, notices as something strange, the _military_
government, which is every where so apparent. Wherever you go, in
public buildings, in the parks, or in the streets, you are always
sure to meet soldiers, policemen, or 'secret service' spies. The
members of the 'National Guards' are, (apparently for a politic
purpose,) interspersed among the 'troops of the line,' or standing
army. The National Guards are citizen volunteers, who serve by turns
a certain length of time. Their whole number is about two hundred and
fifty thousand, and hence their immense importance to the government.
Paris affords an inexhaustible fund of topics for the travelling
letter-writer, but I must recollect that it _has_ been spoken of,
_occasionally_, before. Let me remind you again, my dear ----, that
these rough memorandums are made almost literally 'on the gallop,' by
a _business_ youth, and they are not intended to edify any one but
yourself.[3]
* * * * *
GENEVA, (SWITZERLAND,) AUGUST 19, 1836.--Yes, it is even so! After a
rather tedious journey of three days and four nights from Paris, I
find myself in Switzerland; in Geneva, looking out upon Lake Leman by
moonlight, on a lovely summer evening.
To retrace: At four P. M., on the 14th, I seated myself in the
diligence for Lyons. One of my companions was a very _nice_ and
pretty young lady, who proved to be Paulina Celeste, a Signorina of
Milan, returning with her mother from an engagement at the Italian
Opera, in London. She was quite intelligent, but could not speak
a word of English, except 'very warm,' (and indeed it was;) but
I managed to amuse myself, if not her, in some funny attempts at
conversation in French.
We rode out of Paris over Pont Neuf, passing Notre Dame and the
Jardin des Plants, and proceeded by a dull and level road, (leaving
Fountainbleau and St. Dennis on either side,) along the banks of the
Yonne to Villeneuve, Pont-sur-Yonne, Sens, Joigny, etc., without any
remarkable incident, except that I had the pleasure of being left
behind at one of the stopping places, at eleven o'clock at night. The
conducteurs, when they have taken your money for the whole route,
care very little whether you proceed or not; and I was indebted to
a long hill for detaining the diligence till I overtook it, after a
_hot_ chase of a couple of miles. The next morning at eleven o'clock
we were graciously allowed time to break our fasts of twenty-seven
hours; and a very ordinary _dejéuner_ was despatched, as you may
imagine, with considerable zeal.
Nearly two-thirds of the journey is through corn-fields and
vineyards, affording no fine scenery, but entering a score of petty
villages, made up of the most uncouth and wretched huts imaginable.
The only places worth mentioning, were Auxerre, an ancient town,
fortified by the Romans; Autun, which we entered under a Roman arch
or barrier; Metun, Avallon, Ville-Franche, and Chalons-sur-Soane,
which latter is quite a pretty place, in a fine situation on the
banks of the Soane. We dined there on poulet, pigeon, potage, melon,
bits of lobsters, two inches long, and a variety of dishes so
disguised as to be nameless; with fresh prunes, pears, and grapes for
a dessert. Delicious fresh prunes and grapes may be had here almost
for the taking, but apples, pears, and melons, are scarce and dear.
At eight A. M., on the 17th, we entered Lyons, the second city in the
kingdom, celebrated for its silk and other manufactories. A great
portion of all the French finery which you wear, comes from Lyons.
This city is built between the Rhone and the Soane, which are here
about an eighth of a mile apart, and both very rapid; so there are
abundant facilities for water-power machinery. The bridges and quays
are of stone, and are very handsome. Lofty heights, surmounted with
fortifications, flank the city on either side, and give it an air of
strength and importance. Eagerly looking forward to Italy, there was
little to detain me here. I was disappointed, however, in not finding
any conversible travellers here, on their way to the 'sunny land;'
and ten minutes were allowed me to decide whether I would go alone to
Marseilles, and take the steam-boat for Genoa and Naples, in the face
of the cholera, and at the risk of horrible quarantines; or turn off
to Geneva, with the chance of finding a companion across the Simplon.
The _safer_ alternative was adopted; and taking leave of the pretty
_danseuse_, with a promise to call on her at Milan, I mounted the
banquette, and had another uncomfortable night-ride.[4]
The next morning, however, was beautiful, and we already began to
have a taste for Swiss scenery, which appears to extend forty or
fifty miles into France. The remainder of the journey was over long
hills and dales; and we walked a considerable portion of it, enjoying
occasionally a noble view of rough mountains and green valleys. At
every hamlet and village, our passports were examined by epauletted
officers. Near the frontiers of Switzerland, the Rhone comes tumbling
down between two steep and lofty hills; those referred to, probably,
by 'Childe Harold:'
'Where the swift Rhone cleaves his way between
Heights which appear like lovers who have parted
In haste--whose mining depths so intervene
That they can meet no more, though broken-hearted.'
This is the only pass to this quarter of France, and is rendered
impregnable by a strongly-fortified castle, lately built on the
side of the crag, _over_ the road; so that all travellers must pass
through the court-yard, and submit to close examination. At five P.
M., our passports were received by an officer in more simple uniform
than usual; and this was the first intimation that we had left the
dominions of Louis Phillipe, and entered those of his republican
neighbors. We soon saw other changes. The neat and comfortable
cottages, and the taste and industry displayed in the adjoining
grounds and gardens, in approaching Geneva, form a striking contrast
to the miserable huts and farm-houses of the peasantry of France.
Verily, the lower classes of the French are a filthy people. They
seem to have no idea of neatness, propriety, and comfort, in any
thing. As farmers, and in nearly all the _useful_ arts, they are a
century behind the English. Madame Trollope, methinks, might here
indulge her satirical pen, to her heart's content. But we were
entering Geneva.
It was on a 'soft and lovely eve,' at six, when this pretty town and
prettier lake, with the charming walks and gardens of the environs,
first greeted our admiring vision. The frowning Jura looks down upon
the lake on one side, and the distant snow-capped Alps, with Mont
Blanc duly conspicuous, bound the horizon on the other. At the gates
of the town, which is strongly walled, those important documents,
our passports, were again given up for inspection at the Bureau of
the 'Confederation Fedérale.' The diligence passed round the famous
great Hotel des Bergues, and over the pretty bridge which you see in
the pictures, and set us down at the Hotel de l'Europe, where I was
_favored_ with a bit of a room on the fifth floor, for the hotels
are all crowded. The Bergues, by the way, is considered the best
public house on the continent. There you may mix with lords, princes,
pretty ladies, and handsome equipages, from all parts of Europe. This
place being the head-quarters for tourists to Italy, and noted for
its delightful situation and pure air, is always a favorite resort,
especially for the fashionable and wealthy English.
* * * * *
I WAS so fortunate as to find a vacant room at Monsieur W----'s
beautiful place in the environs, where I have the society of two or
three English and American families, beside the Misses W----, who are
intelligent, sensible girls, and speak English 'like a native.' It is
a most interesting family--uniting the simplicity and _strength_ of
the Swiss character with the refinement and grace of the French.
Geneva, you well know, traces her origin far back into antiquity. It
is mentioned by Julius Cæsar as a place of strength and importance.
It now contains twenty-four thousand inhabitants. The city cannot
boast much of architectural beauty. There are few public buildings
of elegance, and the houses generally are antique and grotesque.
The cathedral, (the same in which Calvin used to preach,) is the
most conspicuous edifice in the town; but there are some large and
substantial modern buildings, on the banks of the lake. The Rhone,
which enters the lake at the other end, leaves it here, and, 'as
if refreshed by its expansion, again contracts itself, and rushes
through the city in two branches, with the impetuosity of a torrent.'
On the little artificial island adjoining the bridge, is a bronze
statue of one of Geneva's gifted sons, JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. Beside
CALVIN, she can also boast of BEZA, CALDERINI, and PICTET among her
theologians. SISMONDI, the distinguished historian, now resides
here. The library of the college, (which has twelve professors, and
six hundred students,) was founded by BONNIVARD, the 'prisoner of
Chillon.'
After rambling about to the Hotel de Ville, Botanic Garden, and the
beautiful ramparts, from whence there are charming views, I walked
along the banks of the lake toward VOLTAIRE's Villa, at Ferney, but
by mistake took the road to Lausanne, equally noted as the place
where Gibbon wrote the 'Decline and Fall.'
'Lausanne and Ferney! Ye have been the abodes
Of names which unto you bequeathed a name.'
In the course of this solitary stroll, I found a retired little cove,
and had the luxury of a bath in the lake, from the bottom of which I
obtained several rather curious pebbles.
After dinner:
'Lake Leman wooed us with its crystal face,
The mirror where the stars and mountains view
The stillness of their aspect, in each trace
Its clear depths yield of their far height and hue;'
and a small party of us, therefore, took a small boat, and rowed a
few miles over its glassy surface. The lake is literally as clear
as crystal; the bottom is distinctly seen in every part of it; and
you recollect Byron says in a note, that he once saw the distinct
reflection in it of Mont Blanc and Mont Argentiére, which are sixty
miles distant! We pushed out into the centre of the beautiful expanse
of water, and 'lay on our oars' to enjoy a scene which must be almost
unique in its loveliness, especially at this hour, when the distant,
snow-white peak of the mighty Blanc is tinged with the rays of the
setting sun. The picturesque buildings of the town rise above each
other at the head of the lake; the banks on each side studded with
villas, embosomed in trees, on green and verdant lawns; while the
'dark frowning Jura' forms an effective back-ground of the picture.
In our sail, we passed the villa at Coligny, where Byron lived nine
months, and wrote the third canto of 'Childe Harold.' He used often
to go out on the lake alone, at midnight, in violent storms, which
seemed to delight and inspire him. The change in the elements
described in the third canto, might be a counterpart of the author's
mind:
'Clear placid Leman! thy contrasted lake,
With the wide world I dwell in, is a thing
Which warns me with its stillness to forsake
Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring:
This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing
To waft me from distraction.'
Mark the contrast:
'The sky is changed! and such a change! Oh night,
And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong,
Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light
Of a dark eye in woman. Far along,
From peak to peak, the rattling crags among,
Leaps the live thunder! Not from one lone cloud,
But every mountain now hath found a tongue,
And Jura answers from her misty shroud,
Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud!'
We were threatened with 'such change,' which are said to be frequent
and sudden; but it proved a false alarm.
But we must return:
'It is the hush of night, and all between
The margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear,
Mellowed and mingling, yet distinctly seen
Save darkened Jura, whose capt heights appear
Precipitously steep; and drawing near,
There breathes a living fragrance from the shore,
Of flowers yet fresh with childhood; on the ear
Drops the light drip of the suspended oar,
Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol more.'
* * * * *
MISS B----, one of the American ladies at Monsieur W----'s, has
resided four years in Italy. Among other anecdotes, of which she
has an entertaining and extensive fund at command, she was telling
us one, illustrating the reputation of our great republic with the
common people of Europe. Near the Hotel de Secherons, on the banks of
the lake, one mile from Geneva, she met a small boy at the gate of
a cottage, and amused herself by a little talk with him. He seemed
much surprised on learning the two facts, that she was an American
lady, and that she boarded at the Secherons, 'where they paid more
money for one dinner than he ever had in his life.' 'Did you ever
hear of America?' 'Oh yes, father told me all about it. There was a
famous Frenchman, Monsieur Lafayette, went there once, and conquered
the country.' 'Indeed!' well, what did he do then?' 'Why, they wanted
him to become king, but he wouldn't.' 'Why not?' 'Because,' said the
boy, hesitating, lest he should give offence, '_because the Americans
are so poor_!' And thus he marvelled that one of them should be rich
enough to patronize the Hotel de Secherons.
SUNDAY.--Attended the English Episcopal chapel, to hear the
celebrated REV. J. W. CUNNINGHAM, author of the 'Velvet Cushion,'
etc. He enjoined upon his audience, mostly English travellers or
residents, to conduct themselves abroad as best became 'British
Christians.' There are chapels of this kind for the English, in
nearly all the large cities of Italy, and throughout Europe.
* * * * *
CHAMOUNI, (FOOT OF MONT BLANC,) AUGUST 23.--Those who describe Swiss
scenery, with a feeling sense of its beauty and grandeur, are apt to
incur the charge of coloring the picture under the influence of an
inflated imagination; but I am sure of one thing, that no mere words
ever did or could give me a correct and full impression of the scenes
I have passed to-day, or of the one now before me. To say that I am
in the valley of Chamouni, at the very base of the stupendous Mont
Blanc and his gigantic neighbors, on a moonlight evening, is to say
enough for your own imagination to fill up the picture. Well does
Rogers remark of the distant view of the Alps from the Jura, where
they are scarcely distinguishable from the vapors:
'Who first beholds those everlasting clouds,
Seed-time and harvest, morning, noon and night,
Still where they were, stedfast, immovable;
Those mighty hills, so shadowy, so sublime,
As rather to belong to heaven than earth,
But instantly receives into his soul,
A sense, a feeling, that he loses not,
A something that informs him 'tis an hour
Whence he may date henceforward and for ever.'
It certainly is a school, where the egotist may learn humility.