We are glad to find ourselves again here, for this hotel bears away the palm from all others we have seen in America, with the exception of that at Harrisburgh, which can alone compare with it in the general beauty of the rooms. To describe, for instance, the bedroom in which we are now sitting. The room is about twenty-four feet square, having two large windows looking to the street, and a mirror and handsome marble consol-table between them. The windows have very handsome gilt cornices, with tamboured muslin curtains, and others of a blue and gold coloured damask; there are two large sofas, and four small chairs of dark walnut wood, carved and covered with the same material as the curtains, and a smaller chair with a tapestry seat—also a large rocking-chair covered with Utrecht velvet. The bed is of prettily carved black walnut, the wash-hand-stand the same, with marble slab; there is a very handsome Brussels carpet, a large round table, at which I am now writing, a very handsome bronze and ormolu lustre, with six gaslights, and two ormolu candelabra on the chimney-piece. The chimney-piece is of white marble, and over it is a most gorgeously carved mirror. The room is about fourteen feet high; the ceiling slightly alcoved and painted in medallions of flowers on a blue ground, with a great deal of very well painted and gilt moulding, which Papa at first thought was really in relief. The paper is a white ground, with a gold pattern, and a coloured border above, and below, and at the angles of the room; the door leads into a very fine wide passage, and there are two others, each leading into an adjoining room, all painted pure white; so is the skirting-board; and the door handles are white porcelain. Thrower's room, next ours, is much the same, but of about half the size. There are Venetian blinds to the windows, not made to draw up, but folding like shutters, and divided into several small panels. Our two windows look into a broad cheerful street, in which the snow is lying deep, and the whole scene is enlivened, every now and then, by the sleighs and their merry bells as they pass along.
Nov. 29th.—Yesterday the morning was very brilliant. Being desirous of seeing a Shaker village, and the nature of their service, we had ordered a vehicle over night to be ready at nine o'clock, when a sleigh made its appearance at the door, with skins of fur and every appliance to keep us warm. These sleighs are most elegant machines, and this one had a hood, though this is not a common appendage. It was drawn by a pair of horses, the driver standing in front. The road was, at first, up a steep hill, but the horses seemed as if they had no weight behind them. On reaching the high land the view, looking back upon the river, was very pretty. The whole country was deeply covered with snow, and in many places, where it had drifted, it had the appearance of large waves, of which the crests curled gracefully over, and looked as if they had been frozen in the act of curling: some of these crests or waves were four or five feet above the level of the road. We were about an hour reaching the village, and were much disappointed to find the gate at the entrance closed, and a painted board hung on it, to announce there would be no meeting that day. Nothing could exceed the apparent order and decorum of the place; but we could not effect a closer approach, though our driver tried hard to gain admittance for us. We therefore returned to Albany, but took a different road home, and enjoyed our sleighing much; and the cheerful sound of the bells round our horses' necks was quite enlivening; still, in spite of our wraps, we must confess that we were not sorry when it was over. On our return to the town we entered a church and heard the end of a sermon. It was a large Baptist church; but we were rather late, for we were told, by a boy at the door, that "the text had been on about forty minutes;" but, to judge from the sample we had of the discourse, we were probably no great losers. The church was a handsome building, but we were chiefly attracted by the following notice, in large letters, at the entrance.
UNION PRAYER MEETING DAILY IN THIS CHURCH,
FROM TWELVE TO ONE O'CLOCK.
"Come in, if only for a few moments; all are welcome."
After leaving the church we walked towards the Capitol, which is situated at the end of a very wide street, State Street, and, as this street rises by a tolerably steep ascent from the river, there is an extensive view over the river and the adjacent country from the plateau on which the Capitol stands. There are two very handsome buildings adjoining, of fine white stone, with Greek porticoes; but the Capitol itself, which is a considerably older building than the others, is of red brick. We had not time to explore further, for a heavy snow storm came on, which lasted for the rest of the day.
Boston, Nov. 30th.—Yesterday morning we started early for this place, and the journey occupied the whole day. We had travelled this road before when the country was rich in its summer clothing, and the contrast was very strange as we saw it to-day. The heavy fall of snow the night before had covered not only the ground but the trees of the forests and the ponds and lakes, which were all frozen over. The Connecticut, however, glided calmly along, though it too was frozen over above the places where falls in the river obstructed the current. We passed several of these, which had a curious appearance, long and massive icicles hanging along the whole crest of the fall, and curiously intermingling with the water which was pouring over the rocks. The beautiful New England villages were as white as ever, the white snow scarcely detracting from the purity of the whiteness of the buildings. It was a splendid day, without a cloud in the sky, and the sun shining on the snow gave it a most brilliant and sparkling appearance.
To-day we have been chiefly engaged in shopping; but we contrived, besides, to see the public Library and Athenæum, as well as the Hospital and Prison, which Papa went over with Lord Radstock when we were first here, both of which fully bear out the account he gave me of them. We feel quite sad to think that this is our last day in America, for we have enjoyed ourselves much; Papa has, indeed, up till late this evening, been engaged in business; but you are not to suppose from this that he has never had any relaxation; I am most thankful to say, on the contrary, that much of our time has been a holiday, and I trust his health has much benefited by our travels. But, whatever our regrets may be at leaving this interesting country, I need scarcely say with what delight we look forward to a return home to our dear children, where, I trust, a fortnight hence, to find you all well and prospering. We embark, at nine to-morrow morning, in the "Canada" for Liverpool, where I shall hope to add a few lines to this on landing.
December 11th, off Cape Clear.—As it may be late to-morrow before we land, and we may not have time to write from Liverpool, I shall close this now, or at all events only add a line from that place. Barring a severe gale of wind, our voyage has been tolerably prosperous since we left Halifax; but I must not anticipate, as I wish to say a little more about Boston, for I omitted in my last day's Journal to mention the admirable arrangement on the Western Railway, by which we came from Albany, as regards checking the luggage. This practice, as I have already told you, is universal, but, generally speaking, one of the employés of the Packet Express Company takes charge of the checks before the passengers leave the cars, and for a trifling charge the luggage is delivered at any hotel the passenger may direct; where this is not done, the checks are usually given to the conductor of the omnibus, of which almost every hotel sends its own to the station. But this latter practice leads to much noise, each conductor shouting out the name of his hotel, as is done at Boulogne and elsewhere on the arrival of the packets. On gliding into the spacious station at Boston we were prepared to encounter this struggle, our checks not having been given up in the car; but, to our surprise, there was a total absence of this noisy scene, and on looking out we saw along the platform a range of beautiful gothic recesses, over each of which was written the name of an hotel, and we had only to walk along till we came to "Tremont House," when, without a word passing, we slipped into the hand of a man stationed within, the checks for our baggage, he simply indicating "No. 2" as the omnibus we were to get into. Walking to the end of the platform, we found a complete row of omnibuses, all consecutively numbered, and marched in silence to No. 2, which in a minute or two drove off with us and the other passengers destined for the Tremont House; we found this, as before, a very comfortable hotel, and our luggage was there within a few minutes after our arrival.
Before quitting the subject of the American hotels, we ought to state that, from what we hear, unhappy single gentlemen meet with a very different fate to that of persons travelling in company with ladies. One poor friend greatly bewailed his lot after he had left his wife at Toronto; on presenting himself at the "office" of the hotel he used to be eyed most suspiciously, especially when they saw his rough drab coloured travelling dress, for the criterion of a genteel American is a black coat and velvet collar. He was accordingly sent in general to a garret, and other travellers have told us the same; one on board the steamers quite confirmed this account, and told us he considered it a piece of great luxury when he had a gaslight in his room. He made this remark on our reading to him the account I have given of our room in Albany and its splendid six-light candelabra.