Journey to Philadelphia—Chesapeak and Delaware Canal—City of
Philadelphia—Miss Wright’s Lecture
In the latter part of August, 1830, we paid a visit to Philadelphia,
and, notwithstanding the season, we were so fortunate as to have both
bright and temperate weather for the expedition. The road from
Washington to Baltimore, which was our first day’s journey, is
interesting in summer from the variety of luxuriance of the foliage
which borders great parts of it.
We passed the night at Baltimore, and embarked next morning on board a
steam-boat for Philadelphia. The scenery of the Elk river, upon which
you enter soon after leaving the port of Baltimore, is not beautiful.
We embarked at six in the morning, and at twelve reached the Chesapeak
and Delaware canal; we then quitted the steam-boat, and walked two or
three hundred yards to the canal, where we got on board a pretty little
decked boat, sheltered by a neat awning, and drawn by four horses. This
canal cuts across the state of Delaware, and connects the Chesapeak and
Delaware rivers: it has been a work of great expense, though the
distance is not more than thirteen miles; for a considerable part of
this distance the cutting has been very deep, and the banks are in many
parts thatched, to prevent their crumbling. At the point where the
cutting is deepest, a light bridge is thrown across, which, from its
great height, forms a striking object to the travellers passing below
it. Every boat that passes this canal pays a toll of twenty dollars.
Nothing can be less interesting than that part of the state of Delaware
through which this cut passes, the Mississippi hardly excepted. At one,
we reached the Delaware river, at a point nearly opposite Delaware
Fort, which looks recently built, and is very handsome. [This fort was
destroyed by fire a few months afterwards.] Here we again changed our
vessel, and got on board another of their noble steam-boats; both these
changes were made with the greatest regularity and dispatch.
There is nothing remarkable in the scenery of the Delaware. The stream
is wide and the banks are flat; a short distance before you reach
Philadelphia two large buildings of singular appearance strike the eye.
On enquiry I learnt that they were erected for the purpose of
sheltering two ships of war. They are handsomely finished, with very
neat roofs, and are ventilated by many windows. The expense of these
buildings must have been considerable, but, as the construction of the
vast machines they shelter was more so, it may be good economy.
We reached Philadelphia at four o’clock in the afternoon. The approach
to this city is not so striking as that to Baltimore; though much
larger, it does not now show itself so well; it wants domes and
columns: it is, nevertheless, a beautiful city. Nothing can exceed its
neatness; the streets are well paved, the foot-way, as in all the old
American cities, is of brick, like the old pantile walk at Tunbridge
Wells. This is almost entirely sheltered from the sun by the awnings,
which, in all the principal streets, are spread from the shop windows
to the edge of the pavement.
The city is built with extreme and almost wearisome regularity; the
streets, which run north and south, are distinguished by numbers, from
one to—I know not how many, but I paid a visit in Twelth Street; these
are intersected at right angles by others, which are known by the names
of various trees; Mulberry (more commonly called Arch-street), Chesnut,
and Walnut, appear the most fashionable: in each of these there is a
theatre. This mode of distinguishing the streets is commodious to
strangers, from the facility it gives of finding out whereabouts you
are; if you ask for the United States Bank, you are told it is in
Chesnut, between Third and Fourth, and as the streets are all divided
from each other by equal distances, of about three hundred feet, you
are sure of not missing your mark. There are many handsome houses, but
none that are very splendid; they are generally of brick, and those of
the better order have white marble steps, and some few, door frames of
the same beautiful material; but, on the whole, there is less display
of it in the private dwellings than at Baltimore.
The Americans all seem greatly to admire this city, and to give it the
preference in point of beauty to all others in the Union, but I do not
agree with them. There are some very handsome buildings, but none of
them so placed as to produce a striking effect, as is the case both
with the Capitol and the President’s house, at Washington.
Notwithstanding these fine buildings, one or more of which are to be
found in all the principal streets, the _coup d’oeil_ is every where
the same. There is no Place de Louis Quinze or Carrousel, no Regent
Street, or Green Park, to make one exclaim “how beautiful!” all is
even, straight, uniform, and uninteresting.
There is one spot, however, about a mile from the town, which presents
a lovely scene. The water-works of Philadelphia have not yet perhaps as
wide extended fame as those of Marley, but they are not less deserving
it. At a most beautiful point of the Schuylkill River the water has
been forced up into a magnificent reservoir, ample and elevated enough
to send it through the whole city. The vast yet simple machinery by
which this is achieved is open to the public, who resort in such
numbers to see it, that several evening stages run from Philadelphia to
Fair Mount for their accommodation. But interesting and curious as this
machinery is, Fair Mount would not be so attractive had it not
something else to offer. It is, in truth, one of the very prettiest
spots the eye can look upon. A broad weir is thrown across the
Schuylkill, which produces the sound and look of a cascade. On the
farther side of the river is a gentleman’s seat, the beautiful lawns of
which slope to the water’s edge, and groups of weeping-willows and
other trees throw their shadows on the stream. The works themselves are
enclosed in a simple but very handsome building of freestone, which has
an extended front opening upon a terrace, which overhangs the river:
behind the building, and divided from it only by a lawn, rises a lofty
wall of solid limestone rock, which has, at one or two points, been cut
into, for the passage of the water into the noble reservoir above. From
the crevices of this rock the catalpa was every where pushing forth,
covered with its beautiful blossom. Beneath one of these trees an
artificial opening in the rock gives passage to a stream of water,
clear and bright as crystal, which is received in a stone basin of
simple workmanship, having a cup for the service of the thirsty
traveller. At another point, a portion of the water in its upward way
to the reservoir, is permitted to spring forth in a perpetual _jet
d’eau_, that returns in a silver shower upon the head of a marble
_naiad_ of snowy whiteness. The statue is not the work of Phidias, but
its dark, rocky background, the flowery catalpas which shadow it, and
the bright shower through which it shows itself, altogether make the
scene one of singular beauty; add to which, the evening on which I saw
it was very sultry, and the contrast of this cool spot to all besides
certainly enhanced its attraction; it was impossible not to envy the
nymph her eternal shower-bath.
On returning from this excursion we saw handbills in all parts of the
city announcing that Miss Wright was on that evening to deliver her
parting address to the citizens of Philadelphia, at the Arch Street
theatre, previous to her departure for Europe. I immediately determined
to hear her, and did so, though not without some difficulty, from the
crowds who went thither with the same intention. The house, which is a
very pretty one, was filled in every part, including the stage, with a
well dressed and most attentive audience. There was a larger proportion
of ladies present than I ever saw on any other occasion in an American
theatre. One reason for this might be, perhaps, that they were admitted
gratis.
Miss Wright came on the stage surrounded by a body guard of Quaker
ladies, in the full costume of their sect. She was, as she always is,
startling in her theories, but powerfully eloquent, and, on the whole,
was much applauded, though one passage produced great emotion, and some
hissing. She stated broadly, on the authority of Jefferson, furnished
by his posthumous works, that “Washington was not a Christian.” One
voice from the crowded pit exclaimed, in an accent of indignation,
“Washington was a Christian.” but it was evident that the majority of
the audience considered Mr. Jefferson’s assertion as a compliment to
the country’s idol, for the hissing was soon triumphantly clapped down.
General Washington himself, however, gives a somewhat different account
of his own principles, for in his admirable farewell address on
declining a re-election to the Presidency, I find the following
passage.
“Of all the dispositions and habits which lead to political prosperity,
religion and morality are indispensable supports. In vain would that
man claim the tribute of patriotism who would labour to subvert these
great pillars of human happiness, these firmest props of the destinies
of men and citizens. A volume could not trace all their connections
with private and public felicity. And let us with caution indulge the
supposition that morality can be maintained without religion, reason
and experience both forbid us to expect that national morality can
prevail in exclusion of religious principle.”
Whether Mr. Jefferson or himself knew best what his principles were, I
will not decide, but, at least, it appears fair, when repeating one
statement, to add the other also.