<h2>CHAPTER VIII<br/> <span class="GutSmall">WASHINGTON. THE LEGISLATURE. AND THE PRESIDENT’S HOUSE</span></h2>
<p><span class="smcap">We</span> left Philadelphia by steamboat,
at six o’clock one very cold morning, and turned our faces
towards Washington.</p>
<p>In the course of this day’s journey, as on subsequent
occasions, we encountered some Englishmen (small farmers,
perhaps, or country publicans at home) who were settled in
America, and were travelling on their own affairs. Of all
grades and kinds of men that jostle one in the public conveyances
of the States, these are often the most intolerable and the most
insufferable companions. United to every disagreeable
characteristic that the worst kind of American travellers
possess, these countrymen of ours display an amount of insolent
conceit and cool assumption of superiority, quite monstrous to
behold. In the coarse familiarity of their approach, and
the effrontery of their inquisitiveness (which they are in great
haste to assert, as if they panted to revenge themselves upon the
decent old restraints of home), they surpass any native specimens
that came within my range of observation: and I often grew so
patriotic when I saw and heard them, that I would cheerfully have
submitted to a reasonable fine, if I could have given any other
country in the whole world, the honour of claiming them for its
children.</p>
<p>As Washington may be called the head-quarters of
tobacco-tinctured saliva, the time is come when I must confess,
without any disguise, that the prevalence of those two odious
practices of chewing and expectorating began about this time to
be anything but agreeable, and soon became most offensive and
sickening. In all the public places of America, this filthy
custom is recognised. In the courts of law, the judge has
his spittoon, the crier his, the witness his, and the prisoner
his; while the jurymen and spectators are provided for, as so
many men who in the course of nature must desire to spit
incessantly. In the hospitals, the students of medicine are
requested, by notices upon the wall, to eject their tobacco juice
into the boxes provided for that purpose, and not to discolour
the stairs. In public buildings, visitors are implored,
through the same agency, to squirt the essence of their quids, or
‘plugs,’ as I have heard them called by gentlemen
learned in this kind of sweetmeat, into the national spittoons,
and not about the bases of the marble columns. But in some
parts, this custom is inseparably mixed up with every meal and
morning call, and with all the transactions of social life.
The stranger, who follows in the track I took myself, will find
it in its full bloom and glory, luxuriant in all its alarming
recklessness, at Washington. And let him not persuade
himself (as I once did, to my shame) that previous tourists have
exaggerated its extent. The thing itself is an exaggeration
of nastiness, which cannot be outdone.</p>
<p>On board this steamboat, there were two young gentlemen, with
shirt-collars reversed as usual, and armed with very big
walking-sticks; who planted two seats in the middle of the deck,
at a distance of some four paces apart; took out their
tobacco-boxes; and sat down opposite each other, to chew.
In less than a quarter of an hour’s time, these hopeful
youths had shed about them on the clean boards, a copious shower
of yellow rain; clearing, by that means, a kind of magic circle,
within whose limits no intruders dared to come, and which they
never failed to refresh and re-refresh before a spot was
dry. This being before breakfast, rather disposed me, I
confess, to nausea; but looking attentively at one of the
expectorators, I plainly saw that he was young in chewing, and
felt inwardly uneasy, himself. A glow of delight came over
me at this discovery; and as I marked his face turn paler and
paler, and saw the ball of tobacco in his left cheek, quiver with
his suppressed agony, while yet he spat, and chewed, and spat
again, in emulation of his older friend, I could have fallen on
his neck and implored him to go on for hours.</p>
<p>We all sat down to a comfortable breakfast in the cabin below,
where there was no more hurry or confusion than at such a meal in
England, and where there was certainly greater politeness
exhibited than at most of our stage-coach banquets. At
about nine o’clock we arrived at the railroad station, and
went on by the cars. At noon we turned out again, to cross
a wide river in another steamboat; landed at a continuation of
the railroad on the opposite shore; and went on by other cars; in
which, in the course of the next hour or so, we crossed by wooden
bridges, each a mile in length, two creeks, called respectively
Great and Little Gunpowder. The water in both was blackened
with flights of canvas-backed ducks, which are most delicious
eating, and abound hereabouts at that season of the year.</p>
<p>These bridges are of wood, have no parapet, and are only just
wide enough for the passage of the trains; which, in the event of
the smallest accident, wound inevitably be plunged into the
river. They are startling contrivances, and are most
agreeable when passed.</p>
<p>We stopped to dine at Baltimore, and being now in Maryland,
were waited on, for the first time, by slaves. The
sensation of exacting any service from human creatures who are
bought and sold, and being, for the time, a party as it were to
their condition, is not an enviable one. The institution
exists, perhaps, in its least repulsive and most mitigated form
in such a town as this; but it <i>is</i> slavery; and though I
was, with respect to it, an innocent man, its presence filled me
with a sense of shame and self-reproach.</p>
<p>After dinner, we went down to the railroad again, and took our
seats in the cars for Washington. Being rather early, those
men and boys who happened to have nothing particular to do, and
were curious in foreigners, came (according to custom) round the
carriage in which I sat; let down all the windows; thrust in
their heads and shoulders; hooked themselves on conveniently, by
their elbows; and fell to comparing notes on the subject of my
personal appearance, with as much indifference as if I were a
stuffed figure. I never gained so much uncompromising
information with reference to my own nose and eyes, and various
impressions wrought by my mouth and chin on different minds, and
how my head looks when it is viewed from behind, as on these
occasions. Some gentlemen were only satisfied by exercising
their sense of touch; and the boys (who are surprisingly
precocious in America) were seldom satisfied, even by that, but
would return to the charge over and over again. Many a
budding president has walked into my room with his cap on his
head and his hands in his pockets, and stared at me for two whole
hours: occasionally refreshing himself with a tweak of his nose,
or a draught from the water-jug; or by walking to the windows and
inviting other boys in the street below, to come up and do
likewise: crying, ‘Here he is!’ ‘Come
on!’ ‘Bring all your brothers!’ with
other hospitable entreaties of that nature.</p>
<p>We reached Washington at about half-past six that evening, and
had upon the way a beautiful view of the Capitol, which is a fine
building of the Corinthian order, placed upon a noble and
commanding eminence. Arrived at the hotel; I saw no more of
the place that night; being very tired, and glad to get to
bed.</p>
<p>Breakfast over next morning, I walk about the streets for an
hour or two, and, coming home, throw up the window in the front
and back, and look out. Here is Washington, fresh in my
mind and under my eye.</p>
<p>Take the worst parts of the City Road and Pentonville, or the
straggling outskirts of Paris, where the houses are smallest,
preserving all their oddities, but especially the small shops and
dwellings, occupied in Pentonville (but not in Washington) by
furniture-brokers, keepers of poor eating-houses, and fanciers of
birds. Burn the whole down; build it up again in wood and
plaster; widen it a little; throw in part of St. John’s
Wood; put green blinds outside all the private houses, with a red
curtain and a white one in every window; plough up all the roads;
plant a great deal of coarse turf in every place where it ought
<i>not</i> to be; erect three handsome buildings in stone and
marble, anywhere, but the more entirely out of everybody’s
way the better; call one the Post Office; one the Patent Office,
and one the Treasury; make it scorching hot in the morning, and
freezing cold in the afternoon, with an occasional tornado of
wind and dust; leave a brick-field without the bricks, in all
central places where a street may naturally be expected: and
that’s Washington.</p>
<p>The hotel in which we live, is a long row of small houses
fronting on the street, and opening at the back upon a common
yard, in which hangs a great triangle. Whenever a servant
is wanted, somebody beats on this triangle from one stroke up to
seven, according to the number of the house in which his presence
is required; and as all the servants are always being wanted, and
none of them ever come, this enlivening engine is in full
performance the whole day through. Clothes are drying in
the same yard; female slaves, with cotton handkerchiefs twisted
round their heads are running to and fro on the hotel business;
black waiters cross and recross with dishes in their hands; two
great dogs are playing upon a mound of loose bricks in the centre
of the little square; a pig is turning up his stomach to the sun,
and grunting ‘that’s comfortable!’; and neither
the men, nor the women, nor the dogs, nor the pig, nor any
created creature, takes the smallest notice of the triangle,
which is tingling madly all the time.</p>
<p>I walk to the front window, and look across the road upon a
long, straggling row of houses, one story high, terminating,
nearly opposite, but a little to the left, in a melancholy piece
of waste ground with frowzy grass, which looks like a small piece
of country that has taken to drinking, and has quite lost
itself. Standing anyhow and all wrong, upon this open
space, like something meteoric that has fallen down from the
moon, is an odd, lop-sided, one-eyed kind of wooden building,
that looks like a church, with a flag-staff as long as itself
sticking out of a steeple something larger than a
tea-chest. Under the window is a small stand of coaches,
whose slave-drivers are sunning themselves on the steps of our
door, and talking idly together. The three most obtrusive
houses near at hand are the three meanest. On one—a
shop, which never has anything in the window, and never has the
door open—is painted in large characters, ‘<span class="smcap">The City Lunch</span>.’ At another,
which looks like a backway to somewhere else, but is an
independent building in itself, oysters are procurable in every
style. At the third, which is a very, very little
tailor’s shop, pants are fixed to order; or in other words,
pantaloons are made to measure. And that is our street in
Washington.</p>
<p>It is sometimes called the City of Magnificent Distances, but
it might with greater propriety be termed the City of Magnificent
Intentions; for it is only on taking a bird’s-eye view of
it from the top of the Capitol, that one can at all comprehend
the vast designs of its projector, an aspiring Frenchman.
Spacious avenues, that begin in nothing, and lead nowhere;
streets, mile-long, that only want houses, roads and inhabitants;
public buildings that need but a public to be complete; and
ornaments of great thoroughfares, which only lack great
thoroughfares to ornament—are its leading features.
One might fancy the season over, and most of the houses gone out
of town for ever with their masters. To the admirers of
cities it is a Barmecide Feast: a pleasant field for the
imagination to rove in; a monument raised to a deceased project,
with not even a legible inscription to record its departed
greatness.</p>
<p>Such as it is, it is likely to remain. It was originally
chosen for the seat of Government, as a means of averting the
conflicting jealousies and interests of the different States; and
very probably, too, as being remote from mobs: a consideration
not to be slighted, even in America. It has no trade or
commerce of its own: having little or no population beyond the
President and his establishment; the members of the legislature
who reside there during the session; the Government clerks and
officers employed in the various departments; the keepers of the
hotels and boarding-houses; and the tradesmen who supply their
tables. It is very unhealthy. Few people would live
in Washington, I take it, who were not obliged to reside there;
and the tides of emigration and speculation, those rapid and
regardless currents, are little likely to flow at any time
towards such dull and sluggish water.</p>
<p>The principal features of the Capitol, are, of course, the two
houses of Assembly. But there is, besides, in the centre of
the building, a fine rotunda, ninety-six feet in diameter, and
ninety-six high, whose circular wall is divided into
compartments, ornamented by historical pictures. Four of
these have for their subjects prominent events in the
revolutionary struggle. They were painted by Colonel
Trumbull, himself a member of Washington’s staff at the
time of their occurrence; from which circumstance they derive a
peculiar interest of their own. In this same hall Mr.
Greenough’s large statue of Washington has been lately
placed. It has great merits of course, but it struck me as
being rather strained and violent for its subject. I could
wish, however, to have seen it in a better light than it can ever
be viewed in, where it stands.</p>
<p>There is a very pleasant and commodious library in the
Capitol; and from a balcony in front, the bird’s-eye view,
of which I have just spoken, may be had, together with a
beautiful prospect of the adjacent country. In one of the
ornamented portions of the building, there is a figure of
Justice; whereunto the Guide Book says, ‘the artist at
first contemplated giving more of nudity, but he was warned that
the public sentiment in this country would not admit of it, and
in his caution he has gone, perhaps, into the opposite
extreme.’ Poor Justice! she has been made to wear
much stranger garments in America than those she pines in, in the
Capitol. Let us hope that she has changed her dress-maker
since they were fashioned, and that the public sentiment of the
country did not cut out the clothes she hides her lovely figure
in, just now.</p>
<p>The House of Representatives is a beautiful and spacious hall,
of semicircular shape, supported by handsome pillars. One
part of the gallery is appropriated to the ladies, and there they
sit in front rows, and come in, and go out, as at a play or
concert. The chair is canopied, and raised considerably
above the floor of the House; and every member has an easy chair
and a writing desk to himself: which is denounced by some people
out of doors as a most unfortunate and injudicious arrangement,
tending to long sittings and prosaic speeches. It is an
elegant chamber to look at, but a singularly bad one for all
purposes of hearing. The Senate, which is smaller, is free
from this objection, and is exceedingly well adapted to the uses
for which it is designed. The sittings, I need hardly add,
take place in the day; and the parliamentary forms are modelled
on those of the old country.</p>
<p>I was sometimes asked, in my progress through other places,
whether I had not been very much impressed by the <i>heads</i> of
the lawmakers at Washington; meaning not their chiefs and
leaders, but literally their individual and personal heads,
whereon their hair grew, and whereby the phrenological character
of each legislator was expressed: and I almost as often struck my
questioner dumb with indignant consternation by answering
‘No, that I didn’t remember being at all
overcome.’ As I must, at whatever hazard, repeat the
avowal here, I will follow it up by relating my impressions on
this subject in as few words as possible.</p>
<p>In the first place—it may be from some imperfect
development of my organ of veneration—I do not remember
having ever fainted away, or having even been moved to tears of
joyful pride, at sight of any legislative body. I have
borne the House of Commons like a man, and have yielded to no
weakness, but slumber, in the House of Lords. I have seen
elections for borough and county, and have never been impelled
(no matter which party won) to damage my hat by throwing it up
into the air in triumph, or to crack my voice by shouting forth
any reference to our Glorious Constitution, to the noble purity
of our independent voters, or, the unimpeachable integrity of our
independent members. Having withstood such strong attacks
upon my fortitude, it is possible that I may be of a cold and
insensible temperament, amounting to iciness, in such matters;
and therefore my impressions of the live pillars of the Capitol
at Washington must be received with such grains of allowance as
this free confession may seem to demand.</p>
<p>Did I see in this public body an assemblage of men, bound
together in the sacred names of Liberty and Freedom, and so
asserting the chaste dignity of those twin goddesses, in all
their discussions, as to exalt at once the Eternal Principles to
which their names are given, and their own character and the
character of their countrymen, in the admiring eyes of the whole
world?</p>
<p>It was but a week, since an aged, grey-haired man, a lasting
honour to the land that gave him birth, who has done good service
to his country, as his forefathers did, and who will be
remembered scores upon scores of years after the worms bred in
its corruption, are but so many grains of dust—it was but a
week, since this old man had stood for days upon his trial before
this very body, charged with having dared to assert the infamy of
that traffic, which has for its accursed merchandise men and
women, and their unborn children. Yes. And publicly
exhibited in the same city all the while; gilded, framed and
glazed hung up for general admiration; shown to strangers not
with shame, but pride; its face not turned towards the wall,
itself not taken down and burned; is the Unanimous Declaration of
the Thirteen United States of America, which solemnly declares
that All Men are created Equal; and are endowed by their Creator
with the Inalienable Rights of Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of
Happiness!</p>
<p>It was not a month, since this same body had sat calmly by,
and heard a man, one of themselves, with oaths which beggars in
their drink reject, threaten to cut another’s throat from
ear to ear. There he sat, among them; not crushed by the
general feeling of the assembly, but as good a man as any.</p>
<p>There was but a week to come, and another of that body, for
doing his duty to those who sent him there; for claiming in a
Republic the Liberty and Freedom of expressing their sentiments,
and making known their prayer; would be tried, found guilty, and
have strong censure passed upon him by the rest. His was a
grave offence indeed; for years before, he had risen up and said,
‘A gang of male and female slaves for sale, warranted to
breed like cattle, linked to each other by iron fetters, are
passing now along the open street beneath the windows of your
Temple of Equality! Look!’ But there are many
kinds of hunters engaged in the Pursuit of Happiness, and they go
variously armed. It is the Inalienable Right of some among
them, to take the field after <i>their</i> Happiness equipped
with cat and cartwhip, stocks, and iron collar, and to shout
their view halloa! (always in praise of Liberty) to the music of
clanking chains and bloody stripes.</p>
<p>Where sat the many legislators of coarse threats; of words and
blows such as coalheavers deal upon each other, when they forget
their breeding? On every side. Every session had its
anecdotes of that kind, and the actors were all there.</p>
<p>Did I recognise in this assembly, a body of men, who, applying
themselves in a new world to correct some of the falsehoods and
vices of the old, purified the avenues to Public Life, paved the
dirty ways to Place and Power, debated and made laws for the
Common Good, and had no party but their Country?</p>
<p>I saw in them, the wheels that move the meanest perversion of
virtuous Political Machinery that the worst tools ever
wrought. Despicable trickery at elections; under-handed
tamperings with public officers; cowardly attacks upon opponents,
with scurrilous newspapers for shields, and hired pens for
daggers; shameful trucklings to mercenary knaves, whose claim to
be considered, is, that every day and week they sow new crops of
ruin with their venal types, which are the dragon’s teeth
of yore, in everything but sharpness; aidings and abettings of
every bad inclination in the popular mind, and artful
suppressions of all its good influences: such things as these,
and in a word, Dishonest Faction in its most depraved and most
unblushing form, stared out from every corner of the crowded
hall.</p>
<p>Did I see among them, the intelligence and refinement: the
true, honest, patriotic heart of America? Here and there,
were drops of its blood and life, but they scarcely coloured the
stream of desperate adventurers which sets that way for profit
and for pay. It is the game of these men, and of their
profligate organs, to make the strife of politics so fierce and
brutal, and so destructive of all self-respect in worthy men,
that sensitive and delicate-minded persons shall be kept aloof,
and they, and such as they, be left to battle out their selfish
views unchecked. And thus this lowest of all scrambling
fights goes on, and they who in other countries would, from their
intelligence and station, most aspire to make the laws, do here
recoil the farthest from that degradation.</p>
<p>That there are, among the representatives of the people in
both Houses, and among all parties, some men of high character
and great abilities, I need not say. The foremost among
those politicians who are known in Europe, have been already
described, and I see no reason to depart from the rule I have
laid down for my guidance, of abstaining from all mention of
individuals. It will be sufficient to add, that to the most
favourable accounts that have been written of them, I more than
fully and most heartily subscribe; and that personal intercourse
and free communication have bred within me, not the result
predicted in the very doubtful proverb, but increased admiration
and respect. They are striking men to look at, hard to
deceive, prompt to act, lions in energy, Crichtons in varied
accomplishments, Indians in fire of eye and gesture, Americans in
strong and generous impulse; and they as well represent the
honour and wisdom of their country at home, as the distinguished
gentleman who is now its Minister at the British Court sustains
its highest character abroad.</p>
<p>I visited both houses nearly every day, during my stay in
Washington. On my initiatory visit to the House of
Representatives, they divided against a decision of the chair;
but the chair won. The second time I went, the member who
was speaking, being interrupted by a laugh, mimicked it, as one
child would in quarrelling with another, and added, ‘that
he would make honourable gentlemen opposite, sing out a little
more on the other side of their mouths presently.’
But interruptions are rare; the speaker being usually heard in
silence. There are more quarrels than with us, and more
threatenings than gentlemen are accustomed to exchange in any
civilised society of which we have record: but farm-yard
imitations have not as yet been imported from the Parliament of
the United Kingdom. The feature in oratory which appears to
be the most practised, and most relished, is the constant
repetition of the same idea or shadow of an idea in fresh words;
and the inquiry out of doors is not, ‘What did he
say?’ but, ‘How long did he speak?’
These, however, are but enlargements of a principle which
prevails elsewhere.</p>
<p>The Senate is a dignified and decorous body, and its
proceedings are conducted with much gravity and order. Both
houses are handsomely carpeted; but the state to which these
carpets are reduced by the universal disregard of the spittoon
with which every honourable member is accommodated, and the
extraordinary improvements on the pattern which are squirted and
dabbled upon it in every direction, do not admit of being
described. I will merely observe, that I strongly recommend
all strangers not to look at the floor; and if they happen to
drop anything, though it be their purse, not to pick it up with
an ungloved hand on any account.</p>
<p>It is somewhat remarkable too, at first, to say the least, to
see so many honourable members with swelled faces; and it is
scarcely less remarkable to discover that this appearance is
caused by the quantity of tobacco they contrive to stow within
the hollow of the cheek. It is strange enough too, to see
an honourable gentleman leaning back in his tilted chair with his
legs on the desk before him, shaping a convenient
‘plug’ with his penknife, and when it is quite ready
for use, shooting the old one from his mouth, as from a pop-gun,
and clapping the new one in its place.</p>
<p>I was surprised to observe that even steady old chewers of
great experience, are not always good marksmen, which has rather
inclined me to doubt that general proficiency with the rifle, of
which we have heard so much in England. Several gentlemen
called upon me who, in the course of conversation, frequently
missed the spittoon at five paces; and one (but he was certainly
short-sighted) mistook the closed sash for the open window, at
three. On another occasion, when I dined out, and was
sitting with two ladies and some gentlemen round a fire before
dinner, one of the company fell short of the fireplace, six
distinct times. I am disposed to think, however, that this
was occasioned by his not aiming at that object; as there was a
white marble hearth before the fender, which was more convenient,
and may have suited his purpose better.</p>
<p>The Patent Office at Washington, furnishes an extraordinary
example of American enterprise and ingenuity; for the immense
number of models it contains are the accumulated inventions of
only five years; the whole of the previous collection having been
destroyed by fire. The elegant structure in which they are
arranged is one of design rather than execution, for there is but
one side erected out of four, though the works are stopped.
The Post Office is a very compact and very beautiful
building. In one of the departments, among a collection of
rare and curious articles, are deposited the presents which have
been made from time to time to the American ambassadors at
foreign courts by the various potentates to whom they were the
accredited agents of the Republic; gifts which by the law they
are not permitted to retain. I confess that I looked upon
this as a very painful exhibition, and one by no means flattering
to the national standard of honesty and honour. That can
scarcely be a high state of moral feeling which imagines a
gentleman of repute and station, likely to be corrupted, in the
discharge of his duty, by the present of a snuff-box, or a
richly-mounted sword, or an Eastern shawl; and surely the Nation
who reposes confidence in her appointed servants, is likely to be
better served, than she who makes them the subject of such very
mean and paltry suspicions.</p>
<p>At George Town, in the suburbs, there is a Jesuit College;
delightfully situated, and, so far as I had an opportunity of
seeing, well managed. Many persons who are not members of
the Romish Church, avail themselves, I believe, of these
institutions, and of the advantageous opportunities they afford
for the education of their children. The heights of this
neighbourhood, above the Potomac River, are very picturesque: and
are free, I should conceive, from some of the insalubrities of
Washington. The air, at that elevation, was quite cool and
refreshing, when in the city it was burning hot.</p>
<p>The President’s mansion is more like an English
club-house, both within and without, than any other kind of
establishment with which I can compare it. The ornamental
ground about it has been laid out in garden walks; they are
pretty, and agreeable to the eye; though they have that
uncomfortable air of having been made yesterday, which is far
from favourable to the display of such beauties.</p>
<p>My first visit to this house was on the morning after my
arrival, when I was carried thither by an official gentleman, who
was so kind as to charge himself with my presentation to the
President.</p>
<p>We entered a large hall, and having twice or thrice rung a
bell which nobody answered, walked without further ceremony
through the rooms on the ground floor, as divers other gentlemen
(mostly with their hats on, and their hands in their pockets)
were doing very leisurely. Some of these had ladies with
them, to whom they were showing the premises; others were
lounging on the chairs and sofas; others, in a perfect state of
exhaustion from listlessness, were yawning drearily. The
greater portion of this assemblage were rather asserting their
supremacy than doing anything else, as they had no particular
business there, that anybody knew of. A few were closely
eyeing the movables, as if to make quite sure that the President
(who was far from popular) had not made away with any of the
furniture, or sold the fixtures for his private benefit.</p>
<p>After glancing at these loungers; who were scattered over a
pretty drawing-room, opening upon a terrace which commanded a
beautiful prospect of the river and the adjacent country; and who
were sauntering, too, about a larger state-room called the
Eastern Drawing-room; we went up-stairs into another chamber,
where were certain visitors, waiting for audiences. At
sight of my conductor, a black in plain clothes and yellow
slippers who was gliding noiselessly about, and whispering
messages in the ears of the more impatient, made a sign of
recognition, and glided off to announce him.</p>
<p>We had previously looked into another chamber fitted all round
with a great, bare, wooden desk or counter, whereon lay files of
newspapers, to which sundry gentlemen were referring. But
there were no such means of beguiling the time in this apartment,
which was as unpromising and tiresome as any waiting-room in one
of our public establishments, or any physician’s
dining-room during his hours of consultation at home.</p>
<p>There were some fifteen or twenty persons in the room.
One, a tall, wiry, muscular old man, from the west; sunburnt and
swarthy; with a brown white hat on his knees, and a giant
umbrella resting between his legs; who sat bolt upright in his
chair, frowning steadily at the carpet, and twitching the hard
lines about his mouth, as if he had made up his mind ‘to
fix’ the President on what he had to say, and
wouldn’t bate him a grain. Another, a Kentucky
farmer, six-feet-six in height, with his hat on, and his hands
under his coat-tails, who leaned against the wall and kicked the
floor with his heel, as though he had Time’s head under his
shoe, and were literally ‘killing’ him. A
third, an oval-faced, bilious-looking man, with sleek black hair
cropped close, and whiskers and beard shaved down to blue dots,
who sucked the head of a thick stick, and from time to time took
it out of his mouth, to see how it was getting on. A fourth
did nothing but whistle. A fifth did nothing but
spit. And indeed all these gentlemen were so very
persevering and energetic in this latter particular, and bestowed
their favours so abundantly upon the carpet, that I take it for
granted the Presidential housemaids have high wages, or, to speak
more genteelly, an ample amount of ‘compensation:’
which is the American word for salary, in the case of all public
servants.</p>
<p>We had not waited in this room many minutes, before the black
messenger returned, and conducted us into another of smaller
dimensions, where, at a business-like table covered with papers,
sat the President himself. He looked somewhat worn and
anxious, and well he might; being at war with everybody—but
the expression of his face was mild and pleasant, and his manner
was remarkably unaffected, gentlemanly, and agreeable. I
thought that in his whole carriage and demeanour, he became his
station singularly well.</p>
<p>Being advised that the sensible etiquette of the republican
court admitted of a traveller, like myself, declining, without
any impropriety, an invitation to dinner, which did not reach me
until I had concluded my arrangements for leaving Washington some
days before that to which it referred, I only returned to this
house once. It was on the occasion of one of those general
assemblies which are held on certain nights, between the hours of
nine and twelve o’clock, and are called, rather oddly,
Levees.</p>
<p>I went, with my wife, at about ten. There was a pretty
dense crowd of carriages and people in the court-yard, and so far
as I could make out, there were no very clear regulations for the
taking up or setting down of company. There were certainly
no policemen to soothe startled horses, either by sawing at their
bridles or flourishing truncheons in their eyes; and I am ready
to make oath that no inoffensive persons were knocked violently
on the head, or poked acutely in their backs or stomachs; or
brought to a standstill by any such gentle means, and then taken
into custody for not moving on. But there was no confusion
or disorder. Our carriage reached the porch in its turn,
without any blustering, swearing, shouting, backing, or other
disturbance: and we dismounted with as much ease and comfort as
though we had been escorted by the whole Metropolitan Force from
A to Z inclusive.</p>
<p>The suite of rooms on the ground-floor were lighted up, and a
military band was playing in the hall. In the smaller
drawing-room, the centre of a circle of company, were the
President and his daughter-in-law, who acted as the lady of the
mansion; and a very interesting, graceful, and accomplished lady
too. One gentleman who stood among this group, appeared to
take upon himself the functions of a master of the
ceremonies. I saw no other officers or attendants, and none
were needed.</p>
<p>The great drawing-room, which I have already mentioned, and
the other chambers on the ground-floor, were crowded to
excess. The company was not, in our sense of the term,
select, for it comprehended persons of very many grades and
classes; nor was there any great display of costly attire:
indeed, some of the costumes may have been, for aught I know,
grotesque enough. But the decorum and propriety of
behaviour which prevailed, were unbroken by any rude or
disagreeable incident; and every man, even among the
miscellaneous crowd in the hall who were admitted without any
orders or tickets to look on, appeared to feel that he was a part
of the Institution, and was responsible for its preserving a
becoming character, and appearing to the best advantage.</p>
<p>That these visitors, too, whatever their station, were not
without some refinement of taste and appreciation of intellectual
gifts, and gratitude to those men who, by the peaceful exercise
of great abilities, shed new charms and associations upon the
homes of their countrymen, and elevate their character in other
lands, was most earnestly testified by their reception of
Washington Irving, my dear friend, who had recently been
appointed Minister at the court of Spain, and who was among them
that night, in his new character, for the first and last time
before going abroad. I sincerely believe that in all the
madness of American politics, few public men would have been so
earnestly, devotedly, and affectionately caressed, as this most
charming writer: and I have seldom respected a public assembly
more, than I did this eager throng, when I saw them turning with
one mind from noisy orators and officers of state, and flocking
with a generous and honest impulse round the man of quiet
pursuits: proud in his promotion as reflecting back upon their
country: and grateful to him with their whole hearts for the
store of graceful fancies he had poured out among them.
Long may he dispense such treasures with unsparing hand; and long
may they remember him as worthily!</p>
<div class="gapshortline"> </div>
<p>The term we had assigned for the duration of our stay in
Washington was now at an end, and we were to begin to travel; for
the railroad distances we had traversed yet, in journeying among
these older towns, are on that great continent looked upon as
nothing.</p>
<p>I had at first intended going South—to Charleston.
But when I came to consider the length of time which this journey
would occupy, and the premature heat of the season, which even at
Washington had been often very trying; and weighed moreover, in
my own mind, the pain of living in the constant contemplation of
slavery, against the more than doubtful chances of my ever seeing
it, in the time I had to spare, stripped of the disguises in
which it would certainly be dressed, and so adding any item to
the host of facts already heaped together on the subject; I began
to listen to old whisperings which had often been present to me
at home in England, when I little thought of ever being here; and
to dream again of cities growing up, like palaces in fairy tales,
among the wilds and forests of the west.</p>
<p>The advice I received in most quarters when I began to yield
to my desire of travelling towards that point of the compass was,
according to custom, sufficiently cheerless: my companion being
threatened with more perils, dangers, and discomforts, than I can
remember or would catalogue if I could; but of which it will be
sufficient to remark that blowings-up in steamboats and
breakings-down in coaches were among the least. But, having
a western route sketched out for me by the best and kindest
authority to which I could have resorted, and putting no great
faith in these discouragements, I soon determined on my plan of
action.</p>
<p>This was to travel south, only to Richmond in Virginia; and
then to turn, and shape our course for the Far West; whither I
beseech the reader’s company, in a new chapter.</p>
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