Finished my letter to ——; went to the theatre. My benefit: the Provoked Husband. The house was very good. I played so-so, and looked very nice. What fine breeding this play is, to be sure: it is quite refreshing to act it; but it must be heathen Greek to the American exclusives, I should think.
Sunday, 28th.
Had only time to swallow a mouthful of breakfast, and off to church. I must say it requires a deal of fortitude to go into an American church: there are no pew-openers, and the people appear to rush indifferently into any seats that are vacant. We went into a pew where there were two women and a man, who did not take up one half of it; but who, nevertheless, looked most ungracious at our coming into it. They did not move to make way or accommodate us, but remained, with very discourteous unchristian-like sulkiness, spread over twice as much space as they required. The spirit of independence seems to preside paramount, even in the house of God. This congregation, by frequenting an Episcopalian temple, evidently professed the form of faith of the English church; yet they neither uttered the responses, nor observed any one of the directions in the Common Prayer-book. Thus, during portions of the worship where kneeling is enjoined, they sat or stood; and while the Creed was being read, half the auditors were reclining comfortably in their pews: the same thing with the Psalms, and all parts of the service. I suppose their love of freedom will not suffer them to be amenable to forms, or wear the exterior of humbleness and homage, even in the house of the Most High God.[47] The whole appearance of the congregation was that of indifference, indolence, and irreverence, and was highly displeasing to my eye. After church, came home, and began writing to ——. —— called. He sat some time mending pens for me; and at half-past one D——, he, and I packed ourselves into a coach, and proceeded on to Fair Mount, where we got out, and left the coach to wait for us. The day was bright and bitter cold: the keen spirit-like wind came careering over the crisping waters of the broad river, and carried across the cloudless blue sky the golden showers from the shivering woods. They had not lost their beauty yet; though some of their crimson robes were turned to palest yellow, and through the thin foliage the dark boughs and rugged barks showed distinctly, yet the sun shone joyfully on them, and they looked beautiful still; and so did the water, curled into a thousand mimic billows, that came breaking their crystal heads along the curving shore, which, with its shady indentings and bright granite promontories, seemed to lock the river in, and gave it the appearance of a lovely lake. We took the tow-path, by D——'s desire; but found (alas, that it is ever so!) that it was distance lent enchantment to the view. For, though it was very pretty, it had lost some of the beauty it seemed to wear, when we looked down upon it from the woody heights that skirt the road.
On we went, —— and I moderating our strides to keep pace with D——; and she, puffing, panting, and struggling on to keep pace with us; yet I was perished, and she was half melted: like all compromises, it was but a botched business. The wind was deliciously fresh; and I think, as we buffeted along in its very face, we should have made an admirable subject for Bunbury. I, with my bonnet off, my combs out, and all my hair flying about, hooked up to ——, who, willow-like, bent over me, to facilitate my reaching his arm. D—— following in the rear, her cap and hair half over her face, her shawl and clothes fluttering in the blast, her cheeks the colour of crimson, which, relieved by her green bonnet, whose sides she grappled tightly down to balk the wind, had much the effect of a fine carnation bursting its verdant sheath. I never saw any thing half so absurd in my life, as we all looked. Yet it was very pleasant and wholesome, good for soul and body. After walking for some time, I asked D—— the hour. It was three, and we were to dine at four, in order to accommodate the servants, who, in this land of liberty, make complete slaves of their masters. Horror took possession of us,—how were we ever to get back in time? To turn back was hopeless: the endless curvings of the shore, however much we had admired their graceful sinuosities before, would now have appeared abominable to our straight-forward designs of home, so we agreed to climb the hill and take the upper road—and what a hill it was!—the sun poured his intense rays down upon it; and, what with the heat and the wind, and the steep path-way, I thought poor D—— would have died. We turned once as we reached the summit, and I never saw any thing more lovely than the scene we were leaving behind us. The beautiful blue water winding far away between its woody shores; close below the hill, a small reed-crowned island lying like a gem on the bright river, and a little beyond, the unfinished arches of a white bridge: the opposite shores were bathed with the evening light, and far away the varied colours of the autumnal woods were tinged with the golden glory of sunset. But we were pursued by the thought of four o'clock, and paused but a moment. On we struggled, and at last my frozen blood began to warm; and by the time we reached the carriage, I was in a fine glow. Certainly exercise is, in itself, very delightful, but in scenes like these it is doubly so: the spirit is roused to activity by the natural beauties around, and the fancy and feelings seem to acquire vigour from the quick circulation of the blood, and the muscular energy of the limbs; it is highly excellent.[48] We jumped into the coach, adjured the man by all the saints in the calendar to put wings to his chariot wheels, and sat concocting plausible lies, by way of excuses, all the way home. At last we hit upon an admirable invention. The cause of our being so late was to be, that we stopped to render our assistance in reviving an unfortunate young woman (a lovely creature, of course), who had thrown herself into the Schuylkill, in consequence of some love disappointment, and who was withdrawn just in time to be preserved. —— was to tell this story with the gravest face he could summon for the occasion, while we went up to dress, and when we came down we were to corroborate his statement as correctly as good chance might enable us. We dressed in half a minute, and found Mr. —— sitting with my father, and —— looking amazingly demure. It seemed, however, that no remark had been made, nor question asked, about our protracted perambulations, so that we had actually thrown away all our ingenuity. This vexed me so much, that in the middle of dinner I introduced the topic of drowning, and, with a lamentable face, related the circumstance; but, alas! one of my auditors was occupied with a matelotte d'anguilles, another with an oyster vol-au-vent, and all the pretty girls in creation might have been drowned, without the loss in any degree affecting the evident satisfaction which the above subjects of meditation seemed to afford the gentlemen: what selfish brutes men are! shocking. Our invention was thus twice thrown away: one said "Humph!" and the other "Ha!" and that was the extent of their sympathy. After dinner, came up to my own room, lay down, and fairly slept till coffee was announced. Came down with half an eye open, and found the circle augmented by the delectable presence of Mr. ——. What an original that youth is! They talked politics, abused republicanism, lauded aristocracy, drank tea, took snuff, ate cakes, and pottered a deal. My father was going fast asleep, —— was making a thousand signs to me to go to the piano, when Mr. —— rose to depart: the other gentlemen took the hint, and left us at half-past ten.
Tuesday, 30th.
At eleven o'clock, went to rehearsal: came home, began letter to ——. Called with my father upon Mrs. ——: the servant committed that awfullest of blunders, letting one into the house, and then finding out that nobody was at home.[49] Came home, practised for some time: all of a sudden the door opened, and in walked Colonel —— with my father. He had just arrived from New York. He dined with us. After dinner, finished letter to ——. At six, went to the theatre. The house was very good; play, Much Ado about Nothing. I played well; but what an audience it is! I have been often recommended, in cases of nervousness on the stage, to consider the audience as just so many cabbages, and, indeed, a small stretch of fancy would enable me to do so here. Colonel —— supped with us. Found an invitation to dinner from the ——. "One exception makes a rule," say the scholars; by that same token, therefore, the Philadelphians are about the most inhospitable set of people it ever was my good fortune to fall in with.[50]
Towards the end of supper, we fell into a strange discussion as to the nature of existence. A vain and fruitless talk, after all; for life shall be happy or sad, not, indeed, according to its events, but according to the nature of the individuals to whom these events befall. Colonel —— maintained that life was in itself desirable; abounding in blessings, replete with comforts, a fertile land, where still, as one joy decays, another springs up to flourish in its place. He said that he felt thankful every day, and every hour of the day, for his existence; that he feared death, only because life was an absolute enjoyment, and that he would willingly, to-morrow, accept the power of beginning his again, even though he should be placed on the world's threshold, a lonely friendless beggar: so sure was he that his prospects would brighten, and friends spring up to him, and plenty reward labour, and life become pleasant, ere it had grown many years old. How widely human beings differ! It was but an hour before, that I, in counting how many stars I had already seen go down below the horizon of existence,—Weber, Lawrence, Scott, all of whom I have known,—was saying to D——, "How sad a thing, and strange, life is!" adding, what I repent me for, "I wish that I were dead!" Oh, how can any human being, who looks abroad into the world, and within upon himself, who sees the wondrous mystery of all things, the unabidingness which waits on all matter, the imperfection which clogs all spirit; who notes the sovereignty of change over the inanimate creation, of disease, decay, and death over man's body, of blindness and delusion over his mind, of sin over his soul; who beholds the frailty of good men; who feels the miserable inconsistency of his own nature; the dust and ashes of which our love, and what we love, is made; the evil that, like an unwholesome corpse, still clings to our good; the sorrow that, like its shadow, still walks behind our joy;—oh, who that sees all this can say that this life is other than sad—most sad? Yet, while I write this, God forbid that I should therefore want eyes to see, or sense to feel, the blessings wherewith he has blessed it; the rewards with which he sweetens our task, the flowers wherewith he cheers our journey's road, the many props wherewith he supports our feet in it. Yet of all these, the sweetest, the brightest, the strongest, are those which our soul draws from him, the end of its desire, not those it finds here. And how should not that spirit yearn for its accomplishment? If we seek knowledge here, a thousand mists arise between our incapable senses and the truth, how, then, should we not wish to cast away this darkness, and soar to the fountains of all light? If we strive to employ those faculties which, being of our soul, have the strength and enduring of immortality, the objects whereon we expend them here are vague, evanescent, disappointing; how then should we not desire to find food for our capacities, abiding as themselves? If we long to love—ah, are not the creatures in whom we centre our affections frail, capable of change; perishable, born to decay? How then should we not look with unutterable yearning for that life where affection is unchangeable, eternal? Surely, if all the hopes, the fears, the aims, the tendings of our soul, have but their beginning here, it is most natural, it is most fitting, to turn to that future where they shall be fulfilled. But there lies a road between.
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