THE AMERICAN LAKES, AND THE CENTRES OF LEARNING, FASHION, AND GOVERNMENT.
_Thursday, July 31st._--Up at 6 a.m. this morning to catch the steamer.
However early we rise for these matutinal starts there is always a rush
in the end to catch the train or boat. It is a depressing thought when we
think of what frequent occurrence they will be for the next few months.
We were soon plying our way over the placid bosom of Lake Champlain,
holding a central course. The shores on either side are flat and ugly,
for the beauty of the lake lies in the broad expanse of unruffled waters
reflecting the various changes of the sky, generally of a heavenly blue,
but on this morning taking the leaden hue of the low-lying clouds.
Numberless islands lay dotted on the calm surface, kept fresh and green
from the continued lapping of the waters around their indented shores.
The range of the green mountains of Vermont lay hidden by a transparent
haze, the sun shining brightly behind, and presently piercing through,
rising to gladden the gloomy morning.
After crossing the broad bay and touching at a further point in the
eastern shore--at Burlington, a thriving town--the waters narrowed
and flowed on the one side through flat green meadows, pretty though
uninteresting; but, on the other, rose in the full beauty of their
verdant summer foliage, the mountains of the Adirondacks. The steamer
threaded its way through the narrow channels, and we lay right under
their mighty shadows, looking into the calm depths of the quiet pools
formed by the boulders of rock, that in the course of ages have loosened
their hold and slipped down the precipitous sides.
We looked up into dark ravines, piercing through the heart of the
mountains, dividing one rounded peak from another. We followed the
undulating outline of the mountains, now bare and stony, or more often
fringed to the summit with pine forests. The dark green of these pines,
and the bright foliage of the stunted oaks, formed a brilliant contrast
to the orange lichen covering the grey protruding boulders.
Here and there we came upon a wall of rocks, descending in a sheer
precipice to the lake, reflecting purple shadows on the still water.
And so we passed on, one scene of beauty succeeding another, till we
reached Fort Ticonderoga. It was here during the Revolutionary War,
that the brave Eathan Allen with his celebrated band of Green Mountain
Boys surprised the British commander in the dead of night, and appearing
at his bedside demanded the immediate surrender of the fort. "In whose
name?" demanded De le Place. "In the name of the Great Jehovah and the
Continental Congress," replied Allen,--and the fort was surrendered.
An hour by rail brought us to the head of Lake George. The Indians gave
it the poetical name of "Horicon," or "Silvery Waters," from the great
purity of the water. Its peaceful shores have been the scene of many a
bloody battle in the great conflict between the Indian and the white man,
and the mountains have oft resounded to the war-whoop and battle-cry of
the savages and the despairing shriek of the captives whom they scalped
alive. Now a death-like stillness broods over the scene. The scenery
of Lake George is far grander than that of Champlain. The other only
leads up to and forms a preparation for this one. The mountains which
surround Lake George and close it in on all sides have a bolder, more
sweeping outline. Here and there one projects lone and solitary, forming
a promontory round which the steamer creeps, seeming to cling to its
densely-wooded sides. The dark whispering pine forests grow down to the
very edge of the waters, mingling their sighings with the rustling of the
waters over a shallow bottom. There are numberless islands, some mere
strips of sandy beach and rocks, dividing the silvery rapids on either
side, and others are wooded with a stunted undergrowth. We noticed one
curious conical-shaped mountain, formed of a sharp escarpment of rock
from the summit to the base, which is called "Roger's Slide." The story
goes that an Englishman, Major Rogers, being hotly pursued by the Indians
to the edge of the cliffs, suddenly bethought himself of reversing his
snow-shoes and retracing his steps by this means leaving no foot-prints.
The Indians tracked him to the brink of the precipice, and then concluded
he had slid down into the lake, under the protection of the "Great
Spirit."
As the steamer turned into the "Narrows" we saw a beautiful little
waterfall, falling down the ravine in a feathery shower of spray, spanned
in the afternoon light by a vivid rainbow. At Sabbath Day Point the
scenery is more striking and majestic. Think of the "Trosachs" in the
Highlands, and that will give the best idea of the grandeur of the scene
before us.
Adding to the beauty of all we saw that afternoon was the ceaseless play
of light and shadow on the mountains. I tried to carry away with me in
the mind's eye the picture of those mountains, dark and powerful as a
background, the quiet beauty and picturesqueness along the banks as a
foreground, and the deep calm blue waters of the lake all around.
Alas! a sudden storm came up and obscured the view before us, and we
ended our journey at Fort William in a blinding hurricane of rain and
wind. We were glad to find shelter from it in the train, which brought us
to Saratoga Springs by the evening.
_Friday, August 1st._--Saratoga is the Ems or Baden-Baden of America, the
most fashionable resort as a watering-place, only equalled by the more
select charms of Newport.
Seen on a sunny morning such as we had, nothing can surpass the
brightness and gaiety of the scene in Broadway. Along its broad shady
avenues stroll the collected beauty and fashion gathered at Saratoga,
and light cross-bar waggons and buggies bowl swiftly by. There are no
villas, but life is confined entirely to _pensions_, and the three
colossal hotels in Broadway. The "United States" is perhaps the finest
of them. It covers seven acres of ground, accommodates 1200 guests, and
gives employment to 150 black waiters. Built round three sides of a
quadrangle, there are broad covered piazzas running the entire length of
the building, opening on to a large and beautifully kept garden, gay with
flowers. Morning and evening the band plays here, when the piazza becomes
a fashionable promenade, visitors from all the other hotels congregating
in it.
American women are the best dressers in the world; for taste and skilful
combination, particularly in pale colours, they are unsurpassed. A change
of costume thrice daily is absolutely _de rigueur_ at Saratoga, and it
becomes at last quite exciting to see how many more varied dresses are
going to appear.
Illustrating a great feature in American life is the wing devoted to the
cottages where families come and live during the season, in separate
suites, everything being provided by the hotel. A good example of
the attendance which it is expected you will require can be gathered
from the notice in each room: "Ring once for the bell-man, twice for
stationery, and three times for iced water." The chamber-maid plays a
very unimportant part in any hotel, and a "bell-man" is attached to each
floor. The consumption of iced water is prodigious; not only is it placed
at your elbow at every meal, but large jugs of it are brought at stated
hours of the day to every room. At the "United States" it was quite
formidable walking the immense length of the dining-room, or venturing
across the vast spaces of the yellow satin-lined drawing-room. The lift
has been known to go up and down 300 times in the course of the afternoon.
Amid the shady groves and green lawns of Congress Park we found the
mineral springs bubbling up into artificial wells, with a few drinkers
idling about, and languidly sipping their waters, but we came to the
conclusion that visitors were not here so much for the purposes of health
as of amusement. The springs are of all kinds, Vichy, sulphur, iron,
magnesia, soda, &c., and it has often been necessary to bore down several
hundred feet before finding the water. Two or three of the most powerful
medicinal springs are some miles away, and these are bottled and brought
in fresh daily for the drinkers in town.
The fashionable afternoon drive is to the lake, some two miles away, and
is reached by a straight dusty road, bordered for the most part by rushes
and long grass, where the frogs maintain a cheerful chorus of chirping.
When you arrive there you find a primitive café, with groups sitting
about the tables under the trees, and the lake, pretty enough, lying in
the hollow, with small excursion steamers constantly plying from the
landing.
In the evening there is generally a "hop," or dance, advertised in one
or other of the hotels, but I confess that that evening we preferred the
good-humoured crowd and the fireworks in Congress Park to the hop at
Congress Hall Hotel. Alternating with the fireworks were the strains of
the band wafted from the pagoda in the centre of the lake, and all sat
about heedless of the heavy dew lying on the grass.
We were very sorry to leave Saratoga the next morning, and undergo a very
hot and dusty journey to Boston. We passed Pittsburg, as famed for its
great ladies' college, as its southern namesake is for its iron-works,
and late in the afternoon reached Boston, Massachusetts. A red and yellow
coach, suspended by straps to C springs, such as were in use in the last
century, conveyed us to the Hotel Vendôme.
I think Boston the most charming of all the American towns. The broad
sweeping avenues are bordered by houses of red sandstone, a soft mellow
colour, that contrasts well with the green avenues of trees and grass
borders. Commonwealth Avenue is the finest of these continuous "parks,"
and is a mile and a half long. The Common, with its avenues of fine
elm-trees, forms a large open space in the middle of the town, and
separated only by a road are the public gardens. A bronze statue of
Washington rises in the middle, surrounded by a brilliant flower-bed, the
colours blending in carpet-gardening to form a Moorish inscription, which
translated means "God is all-powerful," a very fitting motto for the
great hero. The gilded dome of the Massachusetts State House dominates
them from the eminence of Beacon Hill; but far more interesting than
this new erection is the venerable time-worn building of the "Old State
House," where some of the most stirring scenes of the Revolution were
enacted. From this balcony the Declaration of Independence was read to
the people. Our troops occupied the buildings during the Stamp Riots, but
at the close of the war Washington stood on its steps the chosen hero of
the exultant populace. So many of the buildings are closely associated
with humiliating remembrances of that fatal epoch in British history when
these fair provinces, owing to the lack of foresight and imbecility of
her leaders, were for ever lost to England.
There is the old Scotch church, so famous as the political meeting-place
of the Boston Tea Party; Tancred Hall, the "Cradle of Liberty," nurtured
by the patriotic orations of Adams, Everett, and above all of Daniel
Webster; the harbour, with its numerous shipping, where was lighted
the first straw of that great conflagration of the "Rebellion," by the
throwing overboard of those few chests of tea.
The city is rich in churches, there being no less than 150 belonging
to all denominations, who raise their spires heavenwards within its
precincts. But Trinity Church surpasses all in beauty and design. It
is built of granite and freestone in the form of a Latin cross, in
Romanesque style. The stained glass is rich in harmonious colouring,
depicting no subject, but blending into a mystery of blue, orange, and
purple. Some lancet windows, filled with iridescent glass of pale blue,
gave the appearance of shining steel.
We started early on that quiet Sunday morning for a drive to Cambridge in
one of the "Herdic Hansoms." These curious vehicles with their jolting
motion can only be described as covered two wheeled carts. We passed the
green hill on which stands Bunker's Hill Monument. It is inexpressibly
grand in its massive simplicity, being only huge blocks of granite
narrowing in such imperceptible proportion to the summit, that the
pyramidal ending seems in perfect accord with the broad base. No railing
surrounds it. There is no decoration or inscription: it stands alone in
its majesty, sufficiently raised to be a landmark to the whole town. Our
road led through Charlestown, where the seafaring population chiefly live
close to the harbour. A long, straight, dusty road, under a blazing sun
for three miles, brought us to Cambridge, the immediate approach to which
is through stately avenues of elm-trees.
The colleges of Harvard University are clustered together, forming an
irregular quadrangle. There was a delightfully quiet and studious look
about the dull red-brick buildings, low latticed windows, and ivy-covered
walls,--a look of antiquity unusual to America. In this comparatively
newly-risen continent so much is thought of age, that Harvard College,
the oldest of the fifteen of which the University consists, is prized
most highly for its foundation dating from 1636.
Chief amongst the colleges for beauty is the Gothic tower of Memorial
Hall, erected by the alumni in memory of the students who perished in the
War of Secession. It contains the great dining-hall with carved screens
and galleries, busts and portraits of the founders of the college, and
has stained-glass windows bearing the college and State arms. A theatre,
library, museum, scientific school, and chapel are in different parts
of the irregularly laid-out square, which is sacred to the University
buildings.
It was vacation time, and the place was utterly deserted, save by a few
straggling church-goers, their footsteps resounding on the narrow paved
walk, and lingering amongst the tenantless walls. It must be a different
scene in term, when 1300 students and forty-seven professors gather
under the classic shades of a university already numbering among its
former students such men as John Adams the second President of the United
States, Edward Everett, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Oliver Wendell Holmes, John
Lathrop Motley, J. Russell Lowell, and Wendell Phillips. The University
course extends over four years. It may be interesting to know, in face of
the recent agitation at our own universities on the subject, that women
are not as yet admitted to the University lectures, though allowed to
matriculate and pass the different examinations.
Quite near the University is a battered elm-tree, whose shattered
branches are sustained by iron stanchions, and which marks the place
where General Washington took command of the rebellious colonists.
Further on we passed a plain, square, wooden house, with pointed roof,
and a small garden, surrounded by a high laurel hedge, a gravel path, and
little white gate leading to the verandah and entrance. There was nothing
particular to mark a house, homely enough in its exterior. But yet it was
here that in 1775 Washington established his headquarters, when it was
the scene of many warlike preparations and much enthusiasm. Later it has
been hallowed by the quiet presence of the great poet Longfellow.
"The old house by the Lindens
Stood silent in the shade,
And on the gravell'd pathway
The light and shadow play'd."
And it was in this quiet retreat that he passed away in 1882.
We followed the winding road, almost an avenue of willow-trees, to Mount
Auburn Cemetery, and with great difficulty found his last resting-place.
We were terribly disillusioned. Not a garden of flowers, tended by loving
hands; not a simple marble monument with short inscription, prompted by
a knowledge of the gentle, retiring, nature; but we found a great, ugly
block of sandstone, a huge sarcophagus, with a name and date on one side,
and an ingenious pattern on the other, taking X as a centre letter, and
forming a senseless device, and utterly inappropriate to the memory of
the great poet.
[Illustration]
No more beautiful garden than this cemetery could be conceived: grassy
slopes, planted with waving palms and the choicest plants; bright
flower-beds interspersed among the white marble crosses and memorials of
the dead; an air of quiet beauty and repose, mingling with the many signs
of respectful care on the different graves, such as bunches of newly-cut
flowers. Those who have served their country had a miniature flag of the
stars and stripes waving over their heads. The mortuary chapel stands on
the high ground, and opposite to it there is a magnificent marble sphinx
with this soul-stirring inscription,--
"American Union Preserved,
African Slavery Destroyed,
By the Uprising of a Great People,
By the Blood of Fallen Heroes."
Throughout the length and breadth of America this intense respect to
the dead may be seen in regard to their last resting-place. In strange
contrast is the irreverence shown in the removal of bodies. Several
times we saw coffins, travelling _at first-class fares_, placed in the
luggage-vans, piled under Saratoga trunks, and with the party of mourners
in the same train.
In returning from the cemetery we passed Mr. Russell Lowell's
country-house, standing in grounds fairly hidden by surrounding trees.
Boston is the great literary and scientific centre of America. The saying
goes that at Boston they ask you "_what you know_," in New York "_what
you have_," and at Philadelphia "_who you are_."
Fostered by its close neighbourhood to Harvard, Boston boasts more
literary institutions than any other town in America; whether in its
remarkably fine Public Library, its Atheneum (which corresponds to our
Royal Institution), its two museums, or the English High and Latin
School, the first public school in the States.
One of the celebrated steamers of the Fall River Line took us that
evening to Newport.
What fascination the word exercises over "the aristocracy" of America!
Filled throughout the summer months with society--select and fashionable,
hospitable to foreigners, but difficult of access to new-comers, and
closed to those who do not belong to the upper circle of finance. The
gay butterfly life is carried on in "cottages," or villas, as we should
call them--small houses, unattractive outside, standing in gardens
adjoining the road, too public and suburban for English taste. So also
is the life, entirely without privacy; morning calls are customary; and
beginning society thus early, does not prevent its being carried on at
high pressure for the remainder of the day.
There is a well-known and accommodating Frenchman, who undertakes not
only to supply a "cottage," but all the elaborate necessaries, servants,
linen, plate, &c., for a stay at Newport. The Ocean Drive and Bellevue
Avenue are daily crowded with joyous equipages and neat phætons, driven
by their fair owners, and equestrians.
The toilettes are very elaborate, and of unceasing variety. The cost must
be enormous, seeing that prices are double, if not treble those of London
and Paris. The profusion of lace and jewels is unending; but a feeling
is gaining ground that elaborate costumes and diamonds are a little out
of place in the morning. A coloured maid observed to her mistress, in
response to a rebuke, that she had been accustomed to live with "people
of quality." Pressed as to what she understood by people of quality, she
promptly replied, "they were those who dressed simply and wore no jewels
by day."
We had wretched weather; a sea fog which penetrated everything, and
succeeded in damping even the bright life of Newport. Polo and yachting
are very favourite amusements here. A dance was given at the Casino in
the evening, in honour of the yachts which managed to come round in the
course of the day from New Brighton, despite the thick fog, and to which
we went. These Casino dances take place two nights in the week; the entry
is only by payment, no vouchers are required. And yet I believe they are,
as the Newportians say, _quite select_. This fact may be cited as a proof
that no one not in "the set" attempts life at Newport. The latter place
and its inhabitants look down with ineffable scorn and covert sneer at
the rival watering-place of Saratoga.
A tempest of wind and rain, added to the discomforts of the Ocean House
(let no one be deceived by advertisements and a printed list of guests
in daily papers into thinking it a palatial abode), caused us to abandon
all idea of staying, and leaving numerous letters of introduction
unpresented, we packed up and made the best of our way back to New York
by a morning train.
_August 8th._--After a day spent in New York we left for Philadelphia,
crossing in the ferry to New Jersey City, where we saw the blackened
ruins of the Pennsylvania Station, burnt a few days previously. Three
hours' quick run brought us to Philadelphia, and the Hotel Lafayette.
Independence Hall is the centre of interest in Philadelphia; a low
stucco building, supported by pillars, it is fraught with precious
recollections of the great struggle for freedom. It was here that the
Declaration of Independence was signed, on the 4th of July, 1776, and
publicly announced from the centre steps. In the same chamber George
Washington was appointed commander of the army, and delivered a farewell
address, and here Congress afterwards held its sittings till 1797. In a
room facing the hall are some relics. Amongst a medley of autographs and
medals we singled out a cast of Washington's face taken after death, his
horn spectacles, and compass. We saw an earthenware pitcher, brought over
by one of the pilgrims of the _Mayflower_, and the old "Liberty Bell,"
that sounded to the people the first note of freedom, in the adoption of
the Declaration of Independence. "Proclaim Liberty throughout the land
unto all the inhabitants thereof," is the appropriate motto graven on its
mouldy green side.
The City Hall, yet unfinished, is of magnificent proportions. Square
built, its four sides face, and form the very centre of the town--the
point to which all the principal avenues converge. The blocks of marble
used in the construction are enormous, and the four gateways are
supported by colossal marble figures. Close by is the Masonic Temple,
with a tower of quaint turrets, and a beautiful Norman archway; and
opposite a church built of a curious green stone, called serpentine.
Many years ago a Frenchman, called Stephen Girard, came and settled in
Philadelphia. He conceived the idea of bequeathing his property to the
state. At his death it was valued at several millions; and a bequest
was especially left of 2,000,000 dollars to erect a college for orphan
children. His wish was carried out in the building of this magnificent
Corinthian marble edifice, called Girard College. It contains large
lecture and class rooms; the dormitories and professors' houses being in
two adjoining wings. There is no question of election. Any orphan boy
from Pennsylvania or New York State is eligible; and the number, now
1100, is yearly increasing, owing to the rise in value of the Girard
property. One curious restriction alone there is. In accordance with a
provision in the will, no religious teaching of any sort is allowed;
only the elements of morality are taught, and no clergyman of any sect
is given entrance to the college. A marble statue of the founder,
representing him as a little benevolent, wrinkled Frenchman, faces the
entrance, beneath which monument he lies buried.
The Pennsylvania Hospital, though otherwise uninteresting, has such a
very quaint inscription on the corner-stone, that I think it is quite
worth giving:--
"In the year of Christ MDCCLV., George the Second happily reigning (for
he sought the happiness of his people), Philadelphia flourishing (for its
inhabitants were public-spirited), this building, by the bounty of the
government and many private persons, was piously founded for relief of
the sick and miserable. May the God of mercies bless the undertaking!"
We had a pretty drive through Fairmount Park, and ascended by the
elevator (how great the Americans always are at any of these mechanical
contrivances for saving labour!) to a platform 250 feet high, where we
had a beautiful view of the 3000 wooded undulating acres that form one of
the largest parks in the world. To give an idea of its comparative size,
Windsor has only 1800 acres, the Bois de Boulogne 2158, the Prater 2500,
and Richmond 2468. It is five miles long and six broad.
We had not time to go and see the Memorial Hall Museum, in the park,
built in commemoration of the Centennial Exhibition of 1876, and which
contains the nucleus of an art industrial collection after the model of
South Kensington.
A drive through Chestnut Street with a hurried glance at the fine
"stores," and we reached the station in time for the afternoon train to
Washington.
The towns of America, with their even square blocks so regularly and
precisely intersected at right angles leading to the Capitol, City Hall,
or State House, whichever is the presiding genius, are apt to become
wearisome in the extreme. How delightedly then we compared Washington
to these,--the beautiful "city of distances." It were worth coming some
way, if only to see the magnificent breadth of Pennsylvania Avenue at
Washington, paved with asphalte, and lighted by electricity, sweeping in
a perfectly straight line of one mile from the dome of the Capitol to
the Corinthian pillars of the Treasury. The other avenues and streets
are numerically as well as alphabetically named, commencing from the
Capitol. Fifteen of the principal avenues take the names of the fifteen
states which comprised the Union in 1799, when government first ordered
buildings to be erected for the President, Congress, and public offices,
and removed the seat of government to Washington.
The next morning was Sunday, and we went to service at St. John's, the
fashionable church in the precincts of Lafayette Square, where the
President attends, but a remarkably small dark edifice. We strolled back
to "Riggs' House" through the Square. Here stands the equestrian statue
to General Jackson, which is cast from the brass guns and mortars he
captured. The poise of the figure is very fine as he sits the horse,
which is represented as rearing. The balance of this position is only
maintained by the flanks and tail of the horse being filled with solid
metal.
The small red-brick houses in the square overshadowed by the neighbouring
trees, where most of the senators and members live, remind one of many a
story of "wire-pulling" and "place-hunting" exercised by the clever wives
of influential senators. It is a centre of intrigue during the session,
for the influence of women plays no unimportant part in American politics.
The White House is quite near. It is a low stucco building, standing in
a garden, a small strip only of which is kept private, the remainder
lying open to the public. From the entrance gate, where there are neither
military nor police on duty, a broad gravel drive sweeps under the
portico.
Inside there is a long corridor hung with portraits of former Presidents.
A screen of coloured glass divides this corridor from another, which
leads off to the principal sitting-rooms. It would be difficult to
imagine any official residence so simply appointed as the White House.
The state dining-room, which they say will hold thirty-five on occasion
(but it must be a tight fit), is most suitable for every-day use. A room
with terra-cotta walls is an ordinary drawing-room; the Blue Room is
circular, and here the President stands and receives at the _levées_,
which are open to all comers. The Green Room is a large drawing-room; and
a ball-room in white and gold, with enormous pendant chandeliers, forms
the entire suite. A back staircase at either end leads to the upper floor.
The State Department and the War and Navy have very fine buildings beyond
the White House. An obliging official, a groom of the chambers, who
descends in his office to successive Presidents, showed us through; but
as for seeing anything of the other public buildings in Washington on
Sunday we found it was utterly impossible. The further south you come the
more abundant are the black woolly heads of the negroes, with the flaming
colours they love to wear, the orange plume with the purple, green, or
alternating with stripes of red and yellow. The further south you come
also the stricter is the observance of the Sabbath.
We took the car and explored the dreary suburb of Georgetown. As we
approached a cross-street, the boom of muffled drums and the strains of a
funeral march were heard, and we stopped to allow of a long procession,
headed by various deputations, to pass. The open hearse, drawn by white
horses, was followed by some mourning-coaches. It was the funeral of one
of the unfortunate victims of Greely's Arctic Expedition. The press just
now are celebrating the honours of his return, and side by side is raised
a controversy on the awful doubt as to whether cannibalism was resorted
to or not. Certain it is that when the bodies were disinterred by the
rescue party to be brought home, the flesh was found stripped off the
bodies in many cases. Some said it was used as a bait for fishing, but
the more dreadful suspicion is that the survivors, pushed to the last
extremity, devoured it. In the case of Private Henry, shot for stealing
the stores, Greely is even accused by the relations of resorting to
that punishment in order to provide sustenance. It is hard, very hard
that after the intolerable dangers and hardships the brave little band
endured, such suspicions should be raised to meet them on arrival at
home.
Strolling about the avenue rather aimlessly, we came to an equestrian
statue. On inquiring about the original, a passer-by advised us if we
"wanted to see statues to go further on to the Circle." From here we
occupied a central position, looking down no less than eight broad
avenues, and seeing in them some six or all the principal statues of the
city in a _coup d'oeil_.
An ugly circular temple with an obelisk of granite, 550 feet high, is
being erected as a grand national monument to Washington. It stands
facing the semicircular portico of the back of the White House, between
that and the River Potomac.
[Illustration: The Capitol, Washington.]
_Monday, 11th of August, Washington._--We had to be up very early to
see the Capitol before leaving by a ten o'clock train. What a beautiful
building it is, standing as it does on the Capitol Hill, with its broad
stone terraces and grass slopes leading into a park. The west front, with
a flight of innumerable steps the length of the centre building, commands
the Plaza; and the newly-elected President, standing here, delivers his
inaugural address to the people below.
The first building, laid by Washington, was burnt in 1793, and the
present one was commenced twenty-eight years after. Daniel Webster laid
the corner-stone and inscribed on it an inscription grandly worthy of the
building that rose above it:--
"If, therefore, it shall be hereafter the will of God that this
structure shall fall from its base, that its foundation be upturned,
and this deposit brought to the eyes of men, be it then known that on
this day the Union of the United States of America stands firm, that
their Constitution still exists unimpaired, and with all its original
usefulness and glory, growing every day stronger and stronger in the
affection of the great body of the American people, and attracting more
and more the admiration of the world. And all here assembled, whether
belonging to public life or to private life, with hearts devoutly
thankful to Almighty God for the preservation of the liberty and
happiness of the country, unite in sincere and fervent prayers that this
deposit, and the walls and arches, the domes and towers, the columns and
entablatures, now to be erected over it, may endure for ever.
"GOD SAVE THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA."
The colossal bronze statue of Liberty crowns the iron dome, and under the
Corinthian portico are the bronze doors, almost as fine in workmanship as
those of the Baptistery at Florence. They represent Columbus's interview
with Ferdinand and Isabella, his landing in America, his battle with
the Indians, triumphant return, imprisonment and death. The Rotunda is
decorated with frescoes painted in such a way as to appear in bas-relief.
Under the dome is shown the stone where Garfield's body lay in state for
three days, visited by thousands of people. It was estimated that each
incoming train brought its hundreds into Washington during those few
days. The Americans were most deeply touched, and allude, even now, to
the wreath sent by the Queen. The two wings are given up, the one to the
Senate, and the other to the House of Representatives. The old senate
chamber is now used as the Supreme Court of Justice, the highest judicial
tribunal in America. The various lobbies and reception-rooms are very
gorgeous in different coloured marbles, and ceilings frescoed and gilded,
but the interior is hardly worthy of the plain but massive grandeur of
the exterior. The gallery in the House of Representatives will seat
1200, and it is not reserved only for reporters or friends of members,
but open to the public, and to any who care to hear the debates. There is
a ventilator underneath each member's seat which enables him to regulate
the hot air at will.
We were much amused at the ragged condition of the Speaker's table,
the blue cloth being hammered to pieces in the interests of "order." A
National Statue Gallery has been formed by the excellent idea of inviting
each state to send statues of two of its most representative men. I
admired particularly among the frescoes one by Leutze, called "Westward
Ho," very touching in its speaking significance of the hardships the
first emigrants endured. It represents the cart piled up with household
goods, the mother pale and dejected, with the baby sitting on the top,
the elder children plodding along unheeding, whilst the father points
hopefully towards the West; in the background other emigrants are
crowding along the track.
The Sergeant-at-Arms' room is small; too small they say for "pay" day,
when the members come to receive their salaries. Fancy paying your member
1000_l._ a year to represent your interests. He must be dearly bought in
many cases. The total comes to double our civil list. The President's
salary is only 10,000_l._--too meagre for the representative of such a
great nation--and the ministers and judges only receive the insufficient
salary of 1500_l._ per annum. Frequent scandals are the result of this
parsimony. Such a beautiful view is obtained of the broad avenues and
public buildings of the city from the windows of the west front, and the
silver band of the Potomac winding round the outskirts at the foot of the
green heights of Mount Vernon.
We should like to have found time to go to Mount Vernon, and have seen
the plain wooden house, in a lovely situation, overhanging the river,
which Washington made his home; also the key of the Bastille, given to
him by Lafayette, and the room where he died. The plain marble sarcophagi
near the landing-stage marks "the tombs of Washington, and Martha, his
wife." The house after his death was bought and presented to the nation
by "the women of America."
We had to give up all idea of seeing the Smithsonian Institute, a
Gothic building of red sandstone, standing in its own park, presented
to the city by Mr. Smithson, an Englishman. And the Patent Office we
found was not open at this early hour of the morning. Inventive genius
is here protected and encouraged. In tin boxes, labelled and kept in
pigeon-holes, is a model of every patent that has ever been taken out.
The fees are much smaller than in England, and contrivances for the most
homely details have thus been protected.