On the way we were delighted with surrounding scenery, especially when we came to Chesapeake Bay, into which the Susquehanna pours its waters. Woods were clothed with autumnal tints, crimson maples flashed their fires amidst manifold hues of decaying foliage; and the sunny prospect, as we skirted the bay, was beautiful beyond description. At the Baltimore station brethren from Washington invested us each with a white ribbon badge; then on we swept past homesteads, recently the abodes of slaves, many a hut serving as an original illustration for “Uncle Tom’s Cabin.”
We talked in the train with a black bishop, who entertained us with descriptions of negro excitability. He said coloured congregations would exclaim in church, as the preacher proceeded with his discourse, “That’s true, Massa”; and a man once shouted, under the influence of what he heard, “Massa, that’s like going up Jacob’s ladder.”
A distant view of the Capitol is not unlike that of St. Peter’s at Rome, as seen from the Campagna. We saw a few city lions—the Capitol and Smithsonian Institute being chief; and we found this metropolis, not without form, for it is artistically laid out in thoroughfares radiating from the Capitol; but it is certainly “void,” for nominal streets were there, but at that time without houses. We drove a long distance, across an open country, suggesting the idea of a city which is not, but only about to be. How it looks now, I do not know. Yellow dust was blowing in clouds, and lying in thick drifts on the steps of the Hall of Assembly.
General Grant carried in his face the signs of an indomitable will, and without any personal assumption behaved as one conscious of representative power. After my return home, Dr. Adams, who was then in England, told me that he acted as chaplain to the forces at the time of the great war, and rode by the General’s side, when he reviewed the troops. As illustrative of his memory for little things, I may refer to the General’s conversation with his old chaplain, when they met in England, and he alluded to the colour of the horse, the latter used to ride, informing him of the animal’s death, which had just occurred. The General seems to have possessed the royal gift of not forgetting those to whom he had been once introduced. Let me add, he was proud of having commanded such an immense army as he did, and said to the Duke of Wellington—who repeated this to Dr. Stanley, my informant—“Your father was general in chief of only forty thousand men; I led as many as half a million.”
We visited a great number of institutions in New York—colleges, schools, hospitals, and reformatories. Colleges, architecturally, were not imposing; but the libraries and scientific apparatus possessed by some of them, were of a choice and costly kind. I was told of one gentleman who had contributed £100,000 to educational objects. Schools are immense buildings; and at New York and Philadelphia it was a sight indeed, to behold pupils, gliding to their appointed places, and then upturning some eight hundred happy countenances towards the visitors come to see them. The examination of classes was most satisfactory, and the resources and adroitness of the teachers most admirable. Hospitals in the city are abundant, beyond what the necessities of the population seemed to require, and the reformatories afforded encouraging examples of discipline and improvement.
Parks and cemeteries are on a scale of such magnitude, and are so picturesquely laid out, that English visitors surveyed them with surprise. As to American scenery in general, justice had never been done to it.
We felt gulpy in taking leave of friends, and ending a visit so memorable.
The sea was calm, and the weather bright, as we steamed out on our voyage home, but a gale followed, and we had violent storms during several days. Serious accidents occurred in consequence, which gave a maimed appearance to some of the passengers. My dear friend Harrison had a serious fall. Waves rose many feet high, and they supplied a key to some of Turner’s sea pictures, and also to Ruskin’s eloquent language in describing the “truth of water”—the power, majesty, and deathfulness of the open, deep, illimitable sea.
A friendship I formed in America deserves a notice here, on account of the person’s eminence and the obligations under which he laid me by his subsequent handsome gifts. Dr. Sprague had the largest collection of autographs in the world. The number was immense, amounting, I am told, to about 100,000. He was living at Flushing at the time I was in New York, and I had charge from a friend in England to call upon him. Though having never met him before, yet from previous knowledge of each other, we were at home, immediately after I had crossed his threshold. It is an American characteristic to treat as friend any one who has been known by kindly report beforehand, or who can present credentials of character. Dr. Sprague’s wife and daughter received us at once as if we had belonged to the family. We crowded an immense deal of talk into a short space, and before we parted he made reference to his huge collection of autographs. As we had little time to spare, I had covenanted with my companion, Mr. Harrison, that I would avoid that tempting topic, as it would detain us too long; but the ice being suddenly broken, there was no help, and I found myself plunged—I must say not unwillingly—into a subject which prudence had decidedly proscribed. Dr. Sprague found that I was one of the craft, but a minor member; and forthwith he profusely offered assistance, asking whether there were any letters of his countrymen I particularly desired to possess. What an overture! I modestly replied, I should be glad of a few lines written by Washington Irving. Before I left America there came a most interesting letter from Irving to his publisher, respecting a new edition of his works; and after my return to England, post after post brought most valuable contributions to my store of autographs. The very first included a letter signed by General Washington of historical value. It relates to the close of the War of Independence, and gives direction for cessation of hostilities immediately after the surrender of Lord Cornwallis, in 1781. Letters in the handwriting of Franklin, Jonathan Edwards, and a number of other celebrities, came to England from time to time, enriching my stores, almost to the period of Dr. Sprague’s death. He was a popular preacher, a distinguished divine, a prolific author, and a man of widespread influence in the States.
In closing this account of American friends, I must say a few words about members of Harvard University. I had met with the Greek Professor at the Mountain House, on the Catskills, who spoke much of the principal, Dr. Peabody, for whom I felt a high respect. My friend, Mr. Harrison, and I were most courteously received by the Doctor at his residence, and were shown over the University buildings, especially that bearing the name of Stoughton, a Governor of Massachusetts. I was anxious to see the poet Longfellow, who resided in an old-fashioned house not far from the college. Unfortunately he was not at home, and I could not refrain from dropping him a line. I received the following reply:—