Such places, however, do thrive and prosper13 with a prosperity especially their own, and the boys and girls increase and multiply in spite of all dangers. With us in England it is difficult to realize the importance which is attached to a railway in the States, and the results which a railway creates. We have roads everywhere, and our country had been cultivated throughout with more or less care before our system of railways had been commenced; but in America, especially in the North, the railways have been the precursors14 of cultivation15. They have been carried hither and thither16, through primeval forests and over prairies, with small hope of other traffic than that which they themselves would make by their own influences. The people settling on their edges have had the very best of all roads at their service; but they have had no other roads. The face of the country between one settlement and another is still in many cases utterly17 unknown; but there is the connecting road by which produce is carried away, and new-comers are brought in. The town that is distant a hundred miles by the rail is so near that its inhabitants are neighbors; but a settlement twenty miles distant across the uncleared country is unknown, unvisited, and probably unheard of by the women and children. Under such circumstances the railway is everything. It is the first necessity of life, and gives the only hope of wealth. It is the backbone18 of existence from whence spring, and by which are protected, all the vital organs and functions of the community. It is the right arm of civilization for the people, and the discoverer of the fertility of the land. It is all in all to those people, and to those regions. It has supplied the wants of frontier life with all the substantial comfort of the cities, and carried education, progress, and social habits into the wilderness19. To the eye of the stranger such places as Seymour and Crestline are desolate20 and dreary21. There is nothing of beauty in them — given either by nature or by art. The railway itself is ugly, and its numerous sidings and branches form a mass of iron road which is bewildering, and, according to my ideas, in itself disagreeable. The wooden houses open down upon the line, and have no gardens to relieve them. A foreigner, when first surveying such a spot, will certainly record within himself a verdict against it; but in doing so he probably commits the error of judging it by a wrong standard. He should compare it with the new settlements which men have opened up in spots where no railway has assisted them, and not with old towns in which wealth has long been congregated23. The traveler may see what is the place with the railway; then let him consider how it might have thriven without the railway.
I confess that I became tired of my sojourn24 at both the places I have named. At each I think that I saw every house in the place, although my visit to Seymour was made in the night; and at both I was lamentably25 at a loss for something to do. At Crestline I was all alone, and began to feel that the hours which I knew must pass before the missing train could come would never make away with themselves. There were many others stationed there as I was, but to them had been given a capability26 for loafing which niggardly27 Nature has denied to me. An American has the power of seating himself in the close vicinity of a hot stove and feeding in silence on his own thoughts by the hour together. It may be that he will smoke; but after awhile his cigar will come to an end. He sits on, however, certainly patient, and apparently28 contented29. It may be that he chews, but if so, he does it with motionless jaws31, and so slow a mastication32 of the pabulum upon which he feeds, that his employment in this respect only disturbs the absolute quiet of the circle when, at certain long, distant intervals, he deposits the secretion33 of his tobacco in an ornamental34 utensil35 which may probably be placed in the farthest corner of the hall. But during all this time he is happy. It does not fret36 him to sit there and think and do nothing. He is by no means an idle man — probably one much given to commercial enterprise. Idle men out there in the West we may say there are none. How should any idle man live in such a country? All who were sitting hour after hour in that circle round the stove of the Crestline Hotel hall — sitting there hour after hour in silence, as I could not sit — were men who earned their bread by labor37. They were farmers, mechanics, storekeepers; there was a lawyer or two, and one clergyman. Sufficient conversation took place at first to indicate the professions of many of them. One may conclude that there could not be place there for an idle man. But they all of them had a capacity for a prolonged state of doing nothing which is to me unintelligible38, and which is by me very much to be envied. They are patient as cows which from hour to hour lie on the grass chewing their cud. An Englishman, if he be kept waiting by a train in some forlorn station in which he can find no employment, curses his fate and all that has led to his present misfortune with an energy which tells the story of his deep and thorough misery39. Such, I confess, is my state of existence under such circumstances. But a Western American gives himself up to “loafing,” and is quite happy. He balances himself on the back legs of an arm-chair, and remains40 so, without speaking, drinking or smoking for an hour at a stretch; and while he is doing so he looks as though he had all that he desired. I believe that he is happy, and that he has all that he wants for such an occasion — an arm-chair in which to sit, and a stove on which he can put his feet and by which he can make himself warm.
Such was not the phase of character which I had expected to find among the people of the West. Of all virtues41 patience would have been the last which I should have thought of attributing to them. I should have expected to see them angry when robbed of their time, and irritable42 under the stress of such grievances43 as railway delays; but they are never irritable under such circumstances as I have attempted to describe, nor, indeed, are they a people prone45 to irritation46 under any grievances. Even in political matters they are long-enduring, and do not form themselves into mobs for the expression of hot opinion. We in England thought that masses of the people would rise in anger if Mr. Lincoln’s government should consent to give up Slidell and Mason; but the people bore it without any rising. The habeas corpus has been suspended, the liberty of the press has been destroyed for a time, the telegraph wires have been taken up by the government into their own hands, but nevertheless the people have said nothing. There has been no rising of a mob, and not even an expression of an adverse47 opinion. The people require to be allowed to vote periodically, and, having acquired that privilege, permit other matters to go by the board. In this respect we have, I think, in some degree misunderstood their character. They have all been taught to reverence48 the nature of that form of government under which they live, but they are not specially addicted49 to hot political fermentation. They have learned to understand that democratic institutions have given them liberty, and on that subject they entertain a strong conviction which is universal. But they have not habitually50 interested themselves deeply in the doings of their legislators or of their government. On the subject of slavery there have been and are different opinions, held with great tenacity51 and maintained occasionally with violence; but on other subjects of daily policy the American people have not, I think, been eager politicians. Leading men in public life have been much less trammeled by popular will than among us. Indeed with us the most conspicuous52 of our statesmen and legislators do not lead, but are led. In the States the noted53 politicians of the day have been the leaders, and not unfrequently the coercers of opinion. Seeing this, I claim for England a broader freedom in political matters than the States have as yet achieved. In speaking of the American form of government, I will endeavor to explain more clearly the ideas which I have come to hold on this matter.
I survived my delay at Seymour, after which I passed again through Cincinnati, and then survived my subsequent delay at Crestline. As to Cincinnati, I must put on record the result of a country walk which I took there, or rather on which I was taken by my friend. He professed54 to know the beauties of the neighborhood and to be well acquainted with all that was attractive in its vicinity. Cincinnati is built on the Ohio, and is closely surrounded by picturesque55 hills which overhang the suburbs of the city. Over these I was taken, plowing56 my way through a depth of mud which cannot be understood by any ordinary Englishman. But the depth of mud was not the only impediment nor the worst which we encountered. As we began to ascend57 from the level of the outskirts58 of the town we were greeted by a rising flavor in the air, which soon grew into a strong odor, and at last developed itself into a stench that surpassed in offensiveness anything that my nose had ever hitherto suffered. When we were at the worst we hardly knew whether to descend59 or to proceed. It had so increased in virulence60 that at one time I felt sure that it arose from some matter buried in the ground beneath my feet. But my friend, who declared himself to be quite at home in Cincinnati matters, and to understand the details of the great Cincinnati trade, declared against this opinion of mine. Hogs61, he said, were at the bottom of it. It was the odor of hogs going up to the Ohio heavens — of hogs in a state of transit62 from hoggish63 nature to clothes-brushes, saddles, sausages, and lard. He spoke64 with an authority that constrained65 belief; but I can never forgive him in that he took me over those hills, knowing all that he professed to know. Let the visitors to Cincinnati keep themselves within the city, and not wander forth66 among the mountains. It is well that the odor of hogs should ascend to heaven and not hang heavy over the streets; but it is not well to intercept67 that odor in its ascent68. My friend became ill with fever, and had to betake himself to the care of nursing friends; so that I parted company with him at Cincinnati. I did not tell him that his illness was deserved as well as natural, but such was my feeling on the matter. I myself happily escaped the evil consequences which his imprudence might have entailed69 on me.
I again passed through Pittsburg, and over the Alleghany Mountains by Altoona, and down to Baltimore — back into civilization, secession, conversation, and gastronomy70. I never had secessionist sympathies and never expressed them. I always believed in the North as a people — discrediting71, however, to the utmost the existing Northern government, or, as I should more properly say, the existing Northern cabinet; but nevertheless, with such feelings and such belief I found myself very happy at Baltimore. Putting aside Boston — which must, I think, be generally preferred by Englishmen to any other city in the States — I should choose Baltimore as my residence if I were called upon to live in America. I am not led to this, if I know myself, solely72 by the canvas-back ducks; and as to the terrapins73, I throw them to the winds. The madeira, which is still kept there with a reverence which I should call superstitious74 were it not that its free circulation among outside worshipers prohibits the just use of such a word, may have something to do with it, as may also the beauty of the women — to some small extent. Trifles do bear upon our happiness in a manner that we do not ourselves understand and of which we are unconscious. But there was an English look about the streets and houses which I think had as much to do with it as either the wine, the women, or the ducks, and it seemed to me as though the manners of the people of Maryland were more English than those of other Americans. I do not say that they were on this account better. My English hat is, I am well aware, less graceful75, and I believe less comfortable, than a Turkish fez and turban; nevertheless I prefer my English hat. New York I regard as the most thoroughly76 American of all American cities. It is by no means the one in which I should find myself the happiest; but I do not on that account condemn77 it.
I have said that in returning to Baltimore I found myself among secessionists. In so saying I intend to speak of a certain set whose influence depends perhaps more on their wealth, position, and education than on their numbers. I do not think that the population of the city was then in favor of secession, even if it had ever been so. I believe that the mob of Baltimore is probably the roughest mob in the States — is more akin1 to a Paris mob, and I may perhaps also say to a Manchester mob, than that of any other American city. There are more roughs in Baltimore than elsewhere, and the roughs there are rougher. In those early days of secession, when the troops were being first hurried down from New England for the protection of Washington, this mob was vehemently78 opposed to its progress. Men had been taught to think that the rights of the State of Maryland were being invaded by the passage of the soldiers, and they also were undoubtedly79 imbued80 with a strong prepossession for the Southern cause. The two ideas had then gone together. But the mob of Baltimore had ceased to be secessionists within twelve months of their first exploit. In April, 1861, they had refused to allow Massachusetts soldiers to pass through the town on their way to Washington; and in February, 1862, they were nailing union flags on the door-posts of those who refused to display such banners as signs of triumph at the Northern victories!
That Maryland can ever go with the South, even in the event of the South succeeding in secession, no Marylander can believe. It is not pretended that there is any struggle now going on with such an object. No such result has been expected, certainly since the possession of Washington was secured to the North by the army of the Potomac. By few, I believe, was such a result expected even when Washington was insecure. And yet the feeling for secession among a certain class in Baltimore is as strong now as ever it was. And it is equally strong in certain districts of the State — in those districts which are most akin to Virginia in their habits, modes of thought, and ties of friendship. These men, and these women also, pray for the South if they be pious81, give their money to the South if they be generous, work for the South if they be industrious82, fight for the South if they be young, and talk for the South morning, noon, and night, in spite of General Dix and his columbiads on Federal Hill. It is in vain to say that such men and women have no strong feeling on the matter, and that they are praying, working, fighting, and talking under dictation. Their hearts are in it. And judging from them, even though there were no other evidence from which to judge, I have no doubt that a similar feeling is strong through all the seceding83 States. On this subject the North, I think, deceives itself in supposing that the Southern rebellion has been carried on without any strong feeling on the part of the Southern people. Whether the mob of Charleston be like the mob of Baltimore I cannot tell; but I have no doubt as to the gentry84 of Charleston and the gentry of Baltimore being in accord on the subject.
In what way, then, when the question has been settled by the force of arms, will these classes find themselves obliged to act? In Virginia and Maryland they comprise, as a rule, the highest and best educated of the people. As to parts of Kentucky the same thing may be said, and probably as to the whole of Tennessee. It must be remembered that this is not as though certain aristocratic families in a few English counties should find themselves divided off from the politics and national aspirations85 of their country-men, as was the case long since with reference to the Roman Catholic adherents87 of the Stuarts, and as has been the case since then in a lesser88 degree with the firmest of the old Tories who had allowed themselves to be deceived by Sir Robert Peel. In each of these cases the minority of dissentients was so small that the nation suffered nothing, though individuals were all but robbed of their nationality. but as regards America it must be remembered that each State has in itself a governing power, and is in fact a separate people. Each has its own legislature, and must have its own line of politics.
The secessionists of Maryland and of Virginia may consent to live in obscurity; but if this be so, who is to rule in those States? From whence are to come the senators and the members of Congress; the governors and attorney-generals? From whence is to come the national spirit of the two States, and the salt that shall preserve their political life? I have never believed that these States would succeed in secession. I have always felt that they would be held within the union, whatever might be their own wishes. But I think that they will be so held in a manner and after a fashion that will render any political vitality89 almost impossible till a new generation shall have sprung up. In the mean time life goes on pleasantly enough in Baltimore, and ladies meet together, knitting stockings and sewing shirts for the Southern soldiers, while the gentlemen talk Southern politics and drink the health of the (Southern) president in ambiguous terms, as our Cavaliers used to drink the health of the king.
During my second visit to Baltimore I went over to Washington for a day or two, and found the capital still under the empire of King Mud. How the elite90 of a nation — for the inhabitants of Washington consider themselves to be the elite — can consent to live in such a state of thraldom91, a foreigner cannot understand. Were I to say that it was intended to be typical of the condition of the government, I might be considered cynical92; but undoubtedly the sloughs93 of despond which were deepest in their despondency were to be found in localities which gave an appearance of truth to such a surmise94. The Secretary of State’s office, in which Mr. Seward was still reigning95, though with diminished glory, was divided from the headquarters of the commander-inchief, which are immediately opposite to it, by an opaque97 river which admitted of no transit. These buildings stand at the corner of President Square, and it had been long understood that any close intercourse98 between them had not been considered desirable by the occupants of the military side of the causeway. But the Secretary of State’s office was altogether unapproachable without a long circuit and begrimed legs. The Secretary of War’s department was, if possible, in a worse condition. This is situated99 on the other side of the President’s house, and the mud lay, if possible, thicker in this quarter than it did round Mr. Seward’s chambers100. The passage over Pennsylvania Avenue, immediately in front of the War Office, was a thing not to be attempted in those days. Mr. Cameron, it is true, had gone, and Mr. Stanton was installed; but the labor of cleansing101 the interior of that establishment had hitherto allowed no time for a glance at the exterior102 dirt, and Mr. Stanton should, perhaps, be held as excused. That the Navy Office should be buried in mud, and quite debarred from approach, was to be expected. The space immediately in front of Mr. Lincoln’s own residence was still kept fairly clean, and I am happy to be able to give testimony103 to this effect. Long may it remain so. I could not, however, but think that an energetic and careful President would have seen to the removal of the dirt from his own immediate96 neighborhood. It was something that his own shoes should remain unpolluted; but the foul104 mud always clinging to the boots and leggings of those by whom he was daily surrounded must, I should think, have been offensive to him. The entrance to the Treasury105 was difficult to achieve by those who had not learned by practice the ways of the place; but I must confess that a tolerably clear passage was maintained on that side which led immediately down to the halls of Congress. Up at the Capitol the mud was again triumphant106 in the front of the building; this however was not of great importance, as the legislative107 chambers of the States are always reached by the back doors. I, on this occasion, attempted to leave the building by the grand entrance, but I soon became entangled108 among rivers of mud and mazes109 of shifting sand. With difficulty I recovered my steps, and finding my way back to the building was forced to content myself by an exit among the crowd of Senators and Representatives who were thronging110 down the back stairs.
Of dirt of all kinds it behoves Washington and those concerned in Washington to make themselves free. It is the Augean stables through which some American Hercules must turn a purifying river before the American people can justly boast either of their capital or of their government. As to the material mud, enough has been said. The presence of the army perhaps caused it, and the excessive quantity of rain which had fallen may also be taken as a fair plea. But what excuse shall we find for that other dirt? It also had been caused by the presence of the army, and by that long-continued down-pouring of contracts which had fallen like Danae’s golden shower into the laps of those who understood how to avail themselves of such heavenly waters. The leaders of the rebellion are hated in the North. The names of Jefferson Davis, of Cobb, Toombs, and Floyd are mentioned with execration111 by the very children. This has sprung from a true and noble feeling; from a patriotic112 love of national greatness and a hatred113 of those who, for small party purposes, have been willing to lessen114 the name of the United States. I have reverenced115 the feeling even when I have not shared it. But, in addition to this, the names of those also should be execrated116 who have robbed their country when pretending to serve it; who have taken its wages in the days of its great struggle, and at the same time have filched117 from its coffers; who have undertaken the task of steering118 the ship through the storm in order that their hands might be deep in the meal-tub and the bread-basket, and that they might stuff their own sacks with the ship’s provisions. These are the men who must be loathed119 by the nation — whose fate must be held up as a warning to others before good can come! Northern men and women talk of hanging Davis and his accomplices120. I myself trust that there will be no hanging when the war is over. I believe there will be none, for the Americans are not a blood-thirsty people. But if punishment of any kind be meted121 out, the men of the North should understand that they have worse offenders122 among them than Davis and Floyd.
At the period of which I am now speaking, there had come a change over the spirit of Mr. Lincoln’s cabinet. Mr. Seward was still his Secretary of State, but he was, as far as outside observers could judge, no longer his Prime Minister. In the early days of the war, and up to the departure of Mr. Cameron from out of the cabinet, Mr. Seward had been the Minister of the nation. In his dispatches he talks ever of We or of I. In every word of his official writings, of which a large volume has been published, he shows plainly that he intends to be considered as the man of the day — as the hero who is to bring the States through their difficulties. Mr. Lincoln may be king, but Mr. Seward is mayor of the palace, and carries the king in his pocket. From the depth of his own wisdom he undertakes to teach his ministers in all parts of the world, not only their duties, but their proper aspiration86. He is equally kind to foreign statesmen, and sends to them messages as though from an altitude which no European politician had ever reached. At home he has affected123 the Prime Minister in everything, dropping the We and using the I in a manner that has hardly made up by its audacity124 for its deficiency in discretion125. It is of course known everywhere that he had run Mr. Lincoln very hard for the position of Republican candidate for the Presidency126. Mr. Lincoln beat him, and Mr. Seward is well aware that in the states a man has never a second chance for the presidential chair. Hence has arisen his ambition to make for himself a new place in the annals of American politics. Hitherto there has been no Prime Minister known in the government of the United States. Mr. Seward has attempted a revolution in that matter, and has essayed to fill the situation. For awhile it almost seemed that he was successful. He interfered127 with the army, and his interferences were endured. He took upon himself the business of the police, and arrested men at his own will and pleasure. The habeas corpus was in his hand, and his name was current through the States as a covering authority for every outrage128 on the old laws. Sufficient craft, or perhaps cleverness, he possessed129 to organize a position which should give him a power greater than the power of the President; but he had not the genius which would enable him to hold it. He made foolish prophecies about the war, and talked of the triumphs which he would win. He wrote state-papers on matters which he did not understand, and gave himself the airs of diplomatic learning while he showed himself to be sadly ignorant of the very rudiments130 of diplomacy131. He tried to joke as Lord Palmerston jokes, and nobody liked his joking. He was greedy after the little appanages of power, taking from others who loved them as well as he did privileges with which he might have dispensed132. And then, lastly, he was successful in nothing. He had given himself out as the commander of the commander-inchief; but then under his command nothing got itself done. For a month or two some men had really believed in Mr. Seward. The policemen of the country had come to have an absolute trust in him, and the underlings of the public offices were beginning to think that he might be a great man. But then, as is ever the case with such men, there came suddenly a downfall. Mr. Cameron went from the cabinet, and everybody knew that Mr. Seward would be no longer commander of the commander-inchief. His prime ministership was gone from him, and he sank down into the comparatively humble133 position of Minister for Foreign Affairs. His lettres de cachet no longer ran. His passport system was repealed134. His prisoners were released. And though it is too much to say that writs135 of habeas corpus were no longer suspended, the effect and very meaning of the suspension were at once altered. When I first left Washington, Mr. Seward was the only minister of the cabinet whose name was ever mentioned with reference to any great political measure. When I returned to Washington, Mr. Stanton was Mr. Lincoln’s leading minister, and, as Secretary of War, had practically the management of the army and of the internal police.
I have spoken here of Mr. Seward by name, and in my preceding paragraphs I have alluded137 with some asperity138 to the dishonesty of certain men who had obtained political power under Mr. Lincoln, and used it for their own dishonest purposes. I trust that I may not be understood as bringing any such charges against Mr. Seward. That such dishonesty has been frightfully prevalent all men know who knew anything of Washington during the year 1861. In a former chapter I have alluded to this more at length, stating circumstances, and in some cases giving the names of the persons charged with offenses140. Whenever I have done so, I have based my statements on the Van Wyck report, and the evidence therein given. This is the published report of a committee appointed by the house of Representatives; and as it has been before the world for some months without refutation, I think that I have a right to presume it to be true.* On no less authority than this would I consider myself justified141 in bringing any such charge. Of Mr. Seward’s incompetency142 I have heard very much among American politicians; much also of his ambition. With worse offenses than these I have not heard him charged.
* I ought perhaps to state that General Fremont has published an answer to the charges preferred against him. That answer refers chiefly to matters of military capacity or incapacity, as to which I have expressed no opinion. General Fremont does allude136 to the accusations143 made against him regarding the building of the forts; but in doing so he seem to me rather to admit than to deny the acts as stated by the committee.
At the period of which I am writing, February, 1862, the long list of military successes which attended the Northern army through the late winter and early spring had commenced. Fort henry, on the Tennessee River, had first been taken, and after that, Fort Donelson, on the Cumberland River, also in the State, Tennessee. Price had been driven out of Missouri into Arkansas by General Curtis, acting144 under General Halleck’s orders. The chief body of the Confederate army in the West had abandoned the fortified145 position which they had long held at Bowling146 Green, in the southwestern district of Kentucky. Roanoke Island, on the coast of North Carolina, had been taken by General Burnside’s expedition, and a belief had begun to manifest itself in Washington that the army of the Potomac was really about to advance. It is impossible to explain in what way the renewed confidence of the Northern party showed itself, or how one learned that the hopes of the secessionists were waxing dim; but it was so; and even a stranger became aware of the general feeling as clearly as though it were a defined and established fact. In the early part of the winter, when I reached Washington, the feeling ran all the other way. Northern men did not say that they were despondent147; they did not with spoken words express diffidence as to their success; but their looks betrayed diffidence, and the moderation of their self-assurance almost amounted to despondency. In the capital the parties were very much divided. The old inhabitants were either secessionists or influenced by “secession proclivities,” as the word went; but the men of the government and of the two Houses of Congress were, with a few exceptions, of course Northern. It should be understood that these parties were at variance148 with each other on almost every point as to which men can disagree. In our civil war it may be presumed that all Englishmen were at any rate anxious for England. They desired and fought for different modes of government; but each party was equally English in its ambition. In the States there is the hatred of a different nationality added to the rancor149 of different politics. The Southerners desire to be a people of themselves — to divide themselves by every possible mark of division from New England; to be as little akin to New York as they are to London, or, if possible, less so. Their habits, they say, are different; their education, their beliefs, their propensities150, their very virtues and vices151 are not the education, or the beliefs, or the propensities, or the virtues and vices of the North. The bond that ties them to the North is to them a Mezentian marriage, and they hate their Northern spouses152 with a Mezentian hatred. They would be anything sooner than citizens of the United States. They see to what Mexico has come, and the republics of Central America; but the prospect153 of even that degradation154 is less bitter to them than a share in the glory of the stars and stripes. Better, with them, to reign22 in hell than serve in heaven! It is not only in politics that they will be beaten, if they be beaten, as one party with us may be beaten by another; but they will be beaten as we should be beaten if France annexed155 us, and directed that we should live under French rule. Let an Englishman digest and realize that idea, and he will comprehend the feelings of a Southern gentleman as he contemplates156 the probability that his State will be brought back into the union. And the Northern feeling is as strong. The Northern man has founded his national ambition on the territorial157 greatness of his nation. He has panted for new lands, and for still extended boundaries. The Western World has opened her arms to him, and has seemed to welcome him as her only lord. British America has tempted44 him toward the north, and Mexico has been as a prey to him on the south. He has made maps of his empire, including all the continent, and has preached the Monroe doctrine158 as though it had been decreed by the gods. He has told the world of his increasing millions, and has never yet known his store to diminish. He has pawed in the valley, and rejoiced in his strength. He has said among the trumpets159, ha! ha! He has boasted aloud in his pride, and called on all men to look at his glory. And now shall he be divided and shorn? Shall he be hemmed160 in from his ocean, and shut off from his rivers? Shall he have a hook run into his nostrils161, and a thorn driven into his jaw30? Shall men say that his day is over, when he has hardly yet tasted the full cup of his success? Has his young life been a dream, and not a truth? Shall he never reach that giant manhood which the growth of his boyish years has promised him? If the South goes from him, he will be divided, shorn, and hemmed in. The hook will have pierced his nose, and the thorn will fester in his jaw. Men will taunt162 him with his former boastings, and he will awake to find himself but a mortal among mortals.
Such is the light in which the struggle is regarded by the two parties, and such the hopes and feelings which have been engendered163. It may therefore be surmised164 with what amount of neighborly love secessionists and Northern neighbors regarded each other in such towns as Baltimore and Washington. Of course there was hatred of the deepest dye; of course there were muttered curses, or curses which sometimes were not simply muttered. Of course there was wretchedness, heart-burnings, and fearful divisions in families. That, perhaps, was the worst of all. The daughter’s husband would be in the Northern ranks, while the son was fighting in the South; or two sons would hold equal rank in the two armies, sometimes sending to each other frightful139 threats of personal vengeance165. Old friends would meet each other in the street, passing without speaking; or, worse still, would utter words of insult for which payment is to be demanded when a Southern gentleman may again be allowed to quarrel in his own defense166.
And yet society went on. Women still smiled, and men were happy to whom such smiles were given. Cakes and ale were going, and ginger167 was still hot in the mouth. When many were together no words of unhappiness were heard. It was at those small meetings of two or three that women would weep instead of smiling, and that men would run their hands through their hair and sit in silence, thinking of their ruined hopes and divided children.
I have spoken of Southern hopes and Northern fears, and have endeavored to explain the feelings of each party. For myself I think that the Southerners have been wrong in their hopes, and that those of the North have been wrong in their fears. It is not better to rule in hell than serve in heaven. Of course a Southern gentleman will not admit the premises168 which are here by me taken for granted. The hell to which I allude is, the sad position of a low and debased nation. Such, I think, will be the fate of the Gulf169 States, if they succeed in obtaining secession — of a low and debased nation, or, worse still, of many low and debased nations. They will have lost their cotton monopoly by the competition created during the period of the war, and will have no material of greatness on which either to found themselves or to flourish. That they had much to bear when linked with the North, much to endure on account of that slavery from which it was all but impossible that they should disentangle themselves, may probably be true. But so have all political parties among all free nations much to bear from political opponents, and yet other free nations do not go to pieces. Had it been possible that the slaveowners and slave properties should have been scattered170 in parts through all the States and not congregated in the South, the slave party would have maintained itself as other parties do; but in such case, as a matter of course, it would not have thought of secession. It has been the close vicinity of slaveowners to each other, the fact that their lands have been coterminous171, that theirs was especially a cotton district, which has tempted them to secession. They have been tempted to secession, and will, as I think, still achieve it in those Gulf States, much to their misfortune.
And the fears of the North are, I think, equally wrong. That they will be deceived as to that Monroe doctrine is no doubt more than probable. That ambition for an entire continent under one rule will not, I should say, be gratified. But not on that account need the nation be less great, or its civilization less extensive. That hook in its nose and that thorn in its jaw will, after all, be but a hook of the imagination and an ideal thorn. Do not all great men suffer such ere their greatness be established and acknowledged? There is scope enough for all that manhood can do between the Atlantic and the Pacific, even though those hot, swampy172 cotton fields be taken away; even though the snows of the British provinces be denied to them. And as for those rivers and that sea-board, the Americans of the North will have lost much of their old energy and usual force of will if any Southern confederacy be allowed to deny their right of way or to stop their commercial enterprises. I believe that the South will be badly off without the North; but I feel certain that the North will never miss the South when once the wounds to her pride have been closed.
From Washington I journeyed back to Boston through the cities which I had visited in coming thither, and stayed again on my route, for a few days, at Baltimore, at Philadelphia, and at New York. At each town there were those whom I now regarded almost as old friends, and as the time of my departure drew near I felt a sorrow that I was not to be allowed to stay longer. As the general result of my sojourn in the country, I must declare that I was always happy and comfortable in the Eastern cities, and generally unhappy and uncomfortable in the West. I had previously173 been inclined to think that I should like the roughness of the West, and that in the East I should encounter an arrogance174 which would have kept me always on the verge175 of hot water; but in both these surmises176 I found myself to have been wrong. And I think that most English travelers would come to the same conclusion. The Western people do not mean to be harsh or uncivil, but they do not make themselves pleasant. In all the Eastern cities — I speak of the Eastern cities north of Washington — a society may be found which must be esteemed177 as agreeable by Englishmen who like clever, genial178 men, and who love clever, pretty women.
I was forced to pass twice again over the road between New York and Boston, as the packet by which I intended to leave America was fixed179 to sail from the former port. I had promised myself, and had promised others, that I would spend in Boston the last week of my sojourn in the States, and this was a promise which I was by no means inclined to break. If there be a gratification in this world which has no alloy180, it is that of going to an assured welcome. The belief that arms and hearts are open to receive one — and the arms and hearts of women, too, as far as they allow themselves to open them — is the salt of the earth, the sole remedy against sea-sickness, the only cure for the tedium181 of railways, the one preservative182 amid all the miseries183 and fatigue184 of travail185. These matters are private, and should hardly be told of in a book; but in writing of the States, I should not do justice to my own convictions of the country if I did not say how pleasantly social intercourse there will ripen186 into friendship, and how full of love that friendship may become. I became enamored of Boston at last. Beacon187 Street was very pleasant to me, and the view over Boston Common was dear to my eyes. Even the State House, with its great yellow-painted dome11, became sightly, and the sunset over the western waters that encompass188 the city beats all other sunsets that I have seen.
During my last week there the world of Boston was moving itself on sleighs. There was not a wheel to be seen in the town. The omnibuses and public carriages had been dismounted from their axles and put themselves upon snow-runners, and the private world had taken out its winter carriages, and wrapped itself up in buffalo189 robes. Men now spoke of the coming thaw190 as of a misfortune which must come, but which a kind Providence191 might perhaps postpone192 — as we all, in short, speak of death. In the morning the snow would have been hardened by the night’s frost, and men would look happy and contented. By an hour after noon the streets would be all wet and the ground would be slushy, and men would look gloomy and speak of speedy dissolution. There were those who would always prophesy193 that the next day would see the snow converted into one dull, dingy194 river. Such I regarded as seers of tribulation195, and endeavored with all my mind to disbelieve their interpretations196 of the signs. That sleighing was excellent fun. For myself I must own that I hardly saw the best of it at Boston, for the coming of the end was already at hand when I arrived there, and the fresh beauty of the hard snow was gone. Moreover, when I essayed to show my prowess with a pair of horses on the established course for such equipage, the beasts ran away, knowing that I was not practiced in the use of snow chariots, and brought me to grief and shame. There was a lady with me in the sleigh, whom, for awhile, I felt that I was doomed197 to consign198 to a snowy grave — whom I would willingly have overturned into a drift of snow, so as to avoid worse consequences, had I only known how to do so. But Providence, even though without curbs199 and assisted only by simple snaffles, did at last prevail, and I brought the sleigh horses, and lady alive back to Boston, whether with or without permanent injury I have never yet ascertained200.
At last the day of tribulation came, and the snow was picked up and carted out of Boston. Gangs of men, standing201 shoulder to shoulder, were at work along the chief streets, picking, shoveling, and disposing of the dirty blocks. Even then the snow seemed to be nearly a foot thick; but it was dirty, rough, half melted in some places, though hard as stone in others. The labor and cost of cleansing the city in this way must be very great. The people were at it as I left, and I felt that the day of tribulation had in truth come.
Farewell to thee, thou Western Athens! When I have forgotten thee, my right hand shall have forgotten its cunning, and my heart forgotten its pulses. Let us look at the list of names with which Boston has honored itself in our days, and then ask what other town of the same size has done more. Prescott, Bancroft, Motley, Longfellow, Lowell, Emerson, Dana, Agassiz, Holmes, Hawthorne! Who is there among us in England who has not been the better for these men? Who does not owe to some of them a debt of gratitude202? In whose ears is not their names familiar? It is a bright galaxy203, and far extended, for so small a city. What city has done better than this? All these men, save one, are now alive and in the full possession of their powers. What other town of the same size has done as well in the same short space of time? It may be that this is the Augustan era of Boston — its Elizabethan time. If so, I am thankful that my steps have wandered thither at such a period.
While I was at Boston I had the sad privilege of attending the funeral of President Felton, the head of Harvard College. A few months before I had seen him a strong man, apparently in perfect health and in the pride of life. When I reached Boston I heard of his death. He also was an accomplished204 scholar, and as a Grecian has left few behind him who were his equals. At his installation as president, four ex-presidents of Harvard College assisted. Whether they were all present at his funeral I do not know, but I do know that they were all still living. These are Mr. Quincy, who is now over ninety; Mr. Sparks; Mr. Everett, the well-known orator205; and Mr. Walker. They all reside in Boston or its neighborhood, and will probably all assist at the installation of another president.
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1
akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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junctions
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| 联结点( junction的名词复数 )； 会合点； （公路或铁路的）交叉路口； （电缆等的）主结点 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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groaning
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| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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bosoms
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| 胸部( bosom的名词复数 )； 胸怀； 女衣胸部（或胸襟）； 和爱护自己的人在一起的情形 | |
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dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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wholesale
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| n.批发；adv.以批发方式；vt.批发，成批出售 | |
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prosper
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| v.成功，兴隆，昌盛；使成功，使昌隆，繁荣 | |
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precursors
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| n.先驱( precursor的名词复数 )；先行者；先兆；初期形式 | |
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cultivation
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| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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backbone
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| n.脊骨，脊柱，骨干；刚毅，骨气 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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congregated
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| （使）集合，聚集( congregate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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lamentably
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| adv.哀伤地，拙劣地 | |
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capability
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| n.能力；才能；(pl)可发展的能力或特性等 | |
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niggardly
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| adj.吝啬的，很少的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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mastication
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| n.咀嚼 | |
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secretion
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| n.分泌 | |
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ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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utensil
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| n.器皿，用具 | |
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fret
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| v.(使)烦恼；(使)焦急；(使)腐蚀，(使)磨损 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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grievances
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| n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 )；苦衷；不满；牢骚 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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adverse
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| adj.不利的；有害的；敌对的，不友好的 | |
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reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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addicted
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| adj.沉溺于....的，对...上瘾的 | |
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habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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tenacity
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| n.坚韧 | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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56
plowing
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| v.耕( plow的现在分词 )；犁耕；费力穿过 | |
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ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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virulence
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| n.毒力，毒性；病毒性；致病力 | |
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hogs
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| n.（尤指喂肥供食用的）猪( hog的名词复数 )；（供食用的）阉公猪；彻底地做某事；自私的或贪婪的人 | |
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transit
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| n.经过，运输；vt.穿越，旋转；vi.越过 | |
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hoggish
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| adj.贪婪的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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constrained
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| adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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intercept
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| vt.拦截，截住，截击 | |
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ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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entailed
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| 使…成为必要( entail的过去式和过去分词 )； 需要； 限定继承； 使必需 | |
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gastronomy
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| n.美食法；美食学 | |
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discrediting
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| 使不相信( discredit的现在分词 )； 使怀疑； 败坏…的名声； 拒绝相信 | |
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solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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terrapins
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| n.（北美的）淡水龟( terrapin的名词复数 ) | |
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superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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imbued
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| v.使（某人/某事）充满或激起（感情等）( imbue的过去式和过去分词 )；使充满；灌输；激发（强烈感情或品质等） | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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industrious
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| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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seceding
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| v.脱离，退出( secede的现在分词 ) | |
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gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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aspiration
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| n.志向，志趣抱负；渴望；(语)送气音；吸出 | |
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adherents
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| n.支持者，拥护者( adherent的名词复数 )；党羽；徒子徒孙 | |
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lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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elite
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| n.精英阶层；实力集团；adj.杰出的，卓越的 | |
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91
thraldom
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| n.奴隶的身份，奴役，束缚 | |
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92
cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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93
sloughs
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| n.沼泽( slough的名词复数 )；苦难的深渊；难以改变的不良心情；斯劳(Slough)v.使蜕下或脱落( slough的第三人称单数 )；舍弃；除掉；摒弃 | |
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94
surmise
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| v./n.猜想，推测 | |
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95
reigning
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| adj.统治的，起支配作用的 | |
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96
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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97
opaque
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| adj.不透光的；不反光的，不传导的；晦涩的 | |
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98
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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99
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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100
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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101
cleansing
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| n. 净化(垃圾) adj. 清洁用的 动词cleanse的现在分词 | |
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102
exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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103
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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104
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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105
treasury
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| n.宝库；国库，金库；文库 | |
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106
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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107
legislative
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| n.立法机构，立法权；adj.立法的，有立法权的 | |
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108
entangled
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| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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109
mazes
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| 迷宫( maze的名词复数 )； 纷繁复杂的规则； 复杂难懂的细节； 迷宫图 | |
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110
thronging
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的现在分词 ) | |
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111
execration
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| n.诅咒，念咒，憎恶 | |
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112
patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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113
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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114
lessen
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| vt.减少，减轻；缩小 | |
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115
reverenced
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| v.尊敬，崇敬( reverence的过去式和过去分词 )；敬礼 | |
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116
execrated
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| v.憎恶( execrate的过去式和过去分词 )；厌恶；诅咒；咒骂 | |
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117
filched
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| v.偷（尤指小的或不贵重的物品）( filch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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118
steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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119
loathed
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| v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的过去式和过去分词 )；极不喜欢 | |
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120
accomplices
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| 从犯，帮凶，同谋( accomplice的名词复数 ) | |
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121
meted
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| v.（对某人）施以，给予（处罚等）( mete的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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122
offenders
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| n.冒犯者( offender的名词复数 )；犯规者；罪犯；妨害…的人（或事物） | |
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123
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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124
audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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125
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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126
presidency
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| n.总统(校长，总经理)的职位(任期) | |
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127
interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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128
outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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129
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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130
rudiments
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| n.基础知识，入门 | |
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131
diplomacy
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| n.外交；外交手腕，交际手腕 | |
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132
dispensed
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| v.分配( dispense的过去式和过去分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
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133
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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134
repealed
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| 撤销，废除( repeal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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135
writs
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| n.书面命令，令状( writ的名词复数 ) | |
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136
allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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137
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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138
asperity
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| n.粗鲁，艰苦 | |
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139
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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140
offenses
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| n.进攻( offense的名词复数 )；（球队的）前锋；进攻方法；攻势 | |
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141
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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142
incompetency
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| n.无能力，不适当 | |
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143
accusations
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| n.指责( accusation的名词复数 )；指控；控告；（被告发、控告的）罪名 | |
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144
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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145
fortified
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| adj. 加强的 | |
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146
bowling
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| n.保龄球运动 | |
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147
despondent
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| adj.失望的，沮丧的，泄气的 | |
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148
variance
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| n.矛盾，不同 | |
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149
rancor
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| n.深仇，积怨 | |
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150
propensities
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| n.倾向，习性( propensity的名词复数 ) | |
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151
vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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152
spouses
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| n.配偶，夫或妻( spouse的名词复数 ) | |
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153
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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154
degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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155
annexed
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| [法] 附加的，附属的 | |
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156
contemplates
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的第三人称单数 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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157
territorial
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| adj.领土的，领地的 | |
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158
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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159
trumpets
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| 喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 )； 小号； 喇叭形物； （尤指）绽开的水仙花 | |
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160
hemmed
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| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
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161
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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162
taunt
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| n.辱骂，嘲弄；v.嘲弄 | |
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163
engendered
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| v.产生（某形势或状况），造成，引起( engender的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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164
surmised
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的过去式和过去分词 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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165
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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166
defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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167
ginger
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| n.姜，精力，淡赤黄色；adj.淡赤黄色的；vt.使活泼，使有生气 | |
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168
premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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169
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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170
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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171
coterminous
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| adj.毗连的，有共同边界的 | |
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172
swampy
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| adj.沼泽的，湿地的 | |
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173
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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174
arrogance
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| n.傲慢，自大 | |
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175
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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176
surmises
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的第三人称单数 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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177
esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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178
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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179
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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180
alloy
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| n.合金，(金属的)成色 | |
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181
tedium
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| n.单调；烦闷 | |
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182
preservative
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| n.防腐剂；防腐料；保护料；预防药 | |
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183
miseries
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| n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 )；痛苦的事；穷困；常发牢骚的人 | |
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184
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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185
travail
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| n.阵痛；努力 | |
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186
ripen
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| vt.使成熟；vi.成熟 | |
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187
beacon
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| n.烽火，（警告用的）闪火灯，灯塔 | |
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188
encompass
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| vt.围绕，包围；包含，包括；完成 | |
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189
buffalo
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| n.(北美)野牛；(亚洲)水牛 | |
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190
thaw
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| v.（使）融化，（使）变得友善；n.融化，缓和 | |
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191
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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192
postpone
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| v.延期，推迟 | |
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193
prophesy
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| v.预言；预示 | |
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194
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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195
tribulation
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| n.苦难，灾难 | |
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196
interpretations
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| n.解释( interpretation的名词复数 )；表演；演绎；理解 | |
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197
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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198
consign
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| vt.寄售（货品），托运，交托，委托 | |
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199
curbs
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| v.限制，克制，抑制( curb的第三人称单数 ) | |
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200
ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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201
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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202
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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203
galaxy
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| n.星系；银河系；一群(杰出或著名的人物) | |
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204
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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205
orator
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| n.演说者，演讲者，雄辩家 | |
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