One morning, early in the month of March, I left Philadelphia in a steamer for Baltimore. It was a frosty cold day, and we were obliged to have a fire in the cabin; round which the gentlemen—the ladies occupying, as usual, a separate, more elegantly furnished room,—formed at first a small, but, in proportion as the company increased, a larger circle. The manners of the people had already a touch of the South in them: scarcely would a gentleman approach the stove before those who were already seated made room for him; an attention which, trifling as it was, marked a certain consideration for the feelings of others, which it is always gratifying to notice wherever we are. The captains of the boats from Philadelphia to Frenchtown, and from Newcastle to Baltimore,—the distance from Frenchtown to Newcastle is made on a railroad,—were noted for their civility to the passengers; and, on the whole, I do not remember having travelled more at my ease in any part of the United States.
We arrived in Baltimore early in the afternoon of the same day; and the greater part of the company putting up at Barnum’s hotel, I concluded to go thither also. On entering the spacious bar-room I at once asked for a separate room, and ordered my luggage to be taken up to it; but was told “that I must not be in a hurry,” and that no room could be given away to any gentleman without the bar-keeper having made his “calculation.” I then perceived that the gentlemen, one after the other, stepped up to him, telling him their names; which he put down on a slate, together with the number of rooms they asked for, precisely in the same manner as the burgomaster of some small town in Germany would set down the names of the officers of a regiment which is to be quartered upon it. It finally became my turn to speak.
“What’s your name, sir?” demanded the bar-keeper.
“Mr. ***,” said I, taking care to omit the “De.”
“Are you alone, sir?”
“Yes; but that is the reason I want a room by myself.”
“All single rooms are engaged long ago. I shall have to put you in a room with one or two other gentlemen.”
“Then I shall not stay here.”
“You may do as you please; but I cannot accommodate you better. We have to turn away people every day, and we must serve our old customers.”
“You had better stop here,” whispered one of the gentlemen in my ear; “you will be satisfied with the house in every other respect, and I am quite sure you will not be able to do better in Baltimore.”