FROM ROME TO NEW YORK.—SANDY HOOK.—THE “NARROWS.”—BAY OF NEW YORK.—DESCRIPTION OF THE CITY.—CASTLE GARDENS AND BATTERY.—BROADWAY.—THE PARK.—UNION SQUARE.—BOWERY.—THE “TOMBS.”—LAW COURTS.—THEATRES.—BOWLING SALOONS.—OYSTER SALOONS.—HOTELS.—FOOD.—EVILS OF HOTEL LIFE.—SOCIETY.—EDUCATION.—MANNERS AND APPEARANCE OF THE PEOPLE.—PUBLIC BUILDINGS.—ARCHITECTURE OF PRIVATE DWELLINGS.—SERVANTS.—RELIGION AND CHURCHES.—CHARITABLE INSTITUTIONS.—COMMERCE.—VIEW FROM THE BATTERY.

ITALY! How many pleasant images! how many days of the most refined enjoyment does this word invoke! Whatever is most beautiful in Nature, or perfect in Art, lies before the traveller in this land. The mere lover of Nature may luxuriate in the sunny environs of Naples, Baiæ, or Sorrento, or among the blue heights of Albano or Tivoli; the contemplative and studious may wander with delight among the storied and massive ruins of ancient Rome; and the lover of the Fine Arts will gratify his imagination and purify his taste in the artistic wealth of ages.

A passing tribute, a lingering sigh of regret, may, therefore, be pardoned in one, long familiar with the manifold charms of this interesting land.

I was in Rome when a letter summoned me in great haste to Canada. A week took me to England, and in ten days I was crossing the Atlantic in a “Liner” for New York.

Being unfortunate in my fellow-passengers, I felt not only literally, but metaphorically, at sea. My mind wandered back to the glorious scenes and associations of the past winter, and felt acutely the rude shock by which they were at one blow shivered.

A gale of wind off the Western Islands, and a warm thick fog on the banks of Newfoundland, which dripped from the sails, penetrated the cabins, and made every part of the ship wretchedly uncomfortable, are all I have to chronicle of this passage.

The twenty-fourth day we made Block Island and Montauck lighthouse; and from hence were obliged to beat down the low sandy shore of Long Island. Crowds of vessels, outward and homeward bound, indicated that we were slowly approaching a large commercial city: in all other respects the scenery was tame. The only heights visible are those of Neversink, on the New Jersey shore; elsewhere all is flat, sandy, 0151 143 and uninteresting We anchored in the outer bay (but inside Sandy Hook), as the wind swept violently through “The Narrows.” Here, within sight of the shore, a poor girl, about eighteen years old (a steerage passenger), suddenly died. She caught cold from exposure on the wet deck, and, being treated homoeopathically, inflammation carried her off in thirty-six hours. Her body was sent ashore at the quarantine ground.

At early dawn the next morning a huge straggling-looking monster worked its way alongside, grappled us firmly in its claws, and proceeded to tow us through “The Narrows,” and up the inner harbour, to New York. The American river steamboats are curious-looking specimens of naval architecture; but a little experience showed me that, under a rather unwieldy, grotesque form, every quality, except the power of contending against a heavy sea, is found in perfection; comfort, speed, luxury of all kinds, cheapness in the fare, and perfect independence. Let no man smile at a Transatlantic river steamboat.

The “Narrows,” a channel about three-quarters of a mile broad, fortified on each side. separate the outer from the inner harbour, and are the gates, as it were, of New York. The ground rises to a moderate height, and is covered 0152 144 with showy-looking villas and gardens. Everything is clean, appropriate, and, above all, green;—no slight pleasure to the sea-wearied eye—for a country must, indeed, be desolate which appears so after a long sea voyage.

The quarantine ground, sailors' hospital, and retreat, lie a little to the left after passing the “Narrows”—from hence the river opens out into a broad expanse of water. Full in front, is the brick-built city of New York, standing between the Hudson and the East River, and almost hidden by a forest of masts; to the left is the shore of New Jersey and the beautiful North River, whose banks are covered with charming residences nestling among the trees; to the right the heights and town of Brooklyn, having the East River (alive with countless craft) between it, and the parent city from whom this immense suburb has sprung.

Much has been said and written about the bay of New York, and, in truth, its beauty can scarcely be exaggerated. The only fault is a want of elevation in the surrounding country, which, although undulating, is too flat for the large surface on which the eye rests. Otherwise, there is a combination of land and water, island and mainland, farm and forest; all the life and bustle of a large commercial city, and the sleepy, sunny indolence of the haunts of pleasure, rarely to be met with.

As a commercial position, it is unrivalled. The North River pours into its bosom the riches of the West; through the Sound and Hell-gate comes the commerce of the North; and, looking seaward, rare is the moment of the day when some tall ship, freighted, perhaps, with shawls from Cashmere, or cotton goods from Manchester, figs from the Levant, or tea from China, is not to be seen working its way slowly up the bay past the heights of New Brighton; where, by-the-bye, let the stranger repair for one of the finest views of this delightful and interesting scene. A glance at any good map will show at once how admirably most of the beauties of Nature are here grouped together. The New York people are proud of their bay and city, and with reason.

Let us, however, now land, after paying a passing tribute to the courtesy of the Custom-house officer who examined our luggage on board; and having found our way to an hotel, and recruited both the outer and the inner man by a warm bath and a glorious sherry cobbler (that prince of beverages), look around us. The city, we have before said, is built on a long narrow strip of land, tapering to a point; and it may be said to have three great arteries—Greenwich-street, running along the shore of the North River; Broadway, which may be K 0154 146 called the backbone; and the Bowery. From Broadway radiate on both sides to each river numerous streets at right angles to it. Straiten the ribs of the skeleton of a whale, and you have the plan of the city of New York. At the apex of the triangle are the Castle Gardens and Battery, the favourite lounge of the New York people. Let us begin our stroll from this spot, and traverse the city from one end to the other. Every traveller is at once struck with the peculiarly Dutch appearance of this, the oldest part of the city of New York. The red brick houses, having trees planted before them—the style of architecture, and the cleanliness, bear very strongly the impress of the first founder and his followers. A people whose love of everything—national was so strong as to induce them to carry over with them from Holland the bricks of which their houses are built, though the forests around them abounded with timber, and the adjacent land of New Jersey was a mass of clay, were not likely to construct their buildings in so unsubstantial a manner as to permit even the lapse of two centuries to make much impression upon them.

Passing through this comparatively sombre, quiet, and yet attractive little section of the city, we soon enter the long, handsome street called “Broadway.” Here all is life: we 0155 147 plunge at once among a crowd of beings who know full well that time is money:—active restlessness, the quick eye, and the hasty nod, indicate plainly that we are near Wall-street, the Lombard-street of New York.

A little further on, opposite the Astor House, is a triangular garden called the Park; near this the street called the Bowery begins. In this Park stands the City Hall, the Court-house, and Post-office—not forgetting the celebrated Mr. Barnum's Museum, which is adjacent.

Pursuing our course up Broadway, the character of the street soon changes; the shops are less numerous and smaller; the blocks of good private houses more unbroken; handsome squares are seen on casting the eye down the streets to the left of Broadway; the churches become handsomer, and are more numerous; the population is thinner; and, at a short distance above Union-square, a decidedly suburban character is assumed. From the Castle Garden to this square is about three miles. A row of trees on either side line the footpath at the upper end of Broadway.

No person can traverse this street without being favourably impressed by it. Its length is great, the width good; the houses, shops, hotels, and public buildings, are substantial, strong, and, in many cases, imposing. A gaudiness K 2 0156 148 in the paint, and a profusion of signboards, names, and advertisements (in many cases cut into and painted on the pavement from a desire, through eccentricity, to attract the eye of the passer-by), deface the street. The pavement is good, and crowded with people at all hours; but the carriages, except the omnibuses, are far inferior to those generally seen in the leading streets of London.

There is not much variety in the costume. The ladies follow the French fashions, and their toilette is generally so elaborate and expensive as to be better calculated for a drawing-room than a walk in the streets of a large city. Black faces meet you at every turn, and really form almost the only variety in the outward appearance of the genus homo. I very soon perceived that there was a want of nationality in the appearance of the people. Had I been asked to what section of the human family those I saw around me belonged, I could not have given a good ethnological reply. The truth is, that there is no race which in this city can fairly be said to preponderate. In other large places the national dress, language, and personal appearance, are enlivened rather than neutralized by the foreign element. Here all is cosmopolitan. New York is neither English, Yankee, Dutch, German, Italian, or French: 0157 149 but, like a Spanish “Olla,” is a compound of all. No ingredient is obtrusively prominent; each component part of the whole is reckoned by thousands, not units. The result is, that every man, be his country what it may, will here find a section of his home. Its popularity is therefore great: no capital city, except Paris or Vienna, is an equal favourite with the world at large. Amusements of all kinds abound; for the mere lounger, the oyster saloon, bowling alleys, and a host of similar places, will find entertainment. The lover of the stage or music will be able to gratify his taste; and the literary, scientific, or credulous man, will rarely be at a loss for a lecture upon any subject.

The fondness of this people for lectures has been often remarked; and it is perfectly true, that the dryest and most obstruse, as well as the most ridiculous subject, will always command an audience. No European charlatan will ever appeal in vain; the greater the novelty the better; the more startling the theory advanced, the more likely it is to find disciples. Politics, religion, homœopathy, hydropathy, mesmerism, and clairvoyance, are each and all nightly descanted upon to interested, and, what is more, believing crowds.

Let us, however, prolong our walk a short distance from Union-square, in order that we 0158 150 may see the first great reservoir of the Croton aqueduct. The reader would learn but little were I to describe it minutely. The water is brought forty miles in sufficient quantity to supply abundantly a population four times as numerous as that of New York at the present time. The Americans consider it a far finer thing than any Roman aqueduct; be that as it may, it is highly creditable to their energy and engineering skill. Returning home through the Bowery, we visit the city prison, called the “Tombs.” This curious sombre looking building is of Egyptian architecture, and perfectly unlike any prison to be found elsewhere. An uninformed stranger would take it to be a public library or literary institution of some kind. Like our Old Bailey, there are courts in the building for the trial of prisoners, nearly all of whom, when I visited the prison, were negroes or coloured people. The cells are wretched places. Executions take place within the walls in the presence only of the sheriff and a few of the city authorities; a practice which I cannot help thinking it would be well were we to adopt at home. A pass is obtained at the keeper's office, and with this you are allowed to range over the whole building entirely unattended, and apparently unwatched. While I was inside the walls, an Irish woman was 0159 151 brought in almost wholly naked, and intoxicated to the last degree of stupor; she was a most pitiable sight. The policemen who carried her appeared to be fully alive to the degraded nature of their burden; and for myself I can truly say, that neither in Drury-lane, nor Tottenham Court-road, have I ever seen, so degraded a specimen of the bloated sot. Another functionary followed, carrying her dirty ragged garments. All visits to such places are painful, and I was glad to be once more outside.

Not far from this prison are the law courts. The chancellor was not sitting; in the Circuit Court a son of the well known Judge Kent was on the bench. There was no attempt at judicial pomp or ceremony; neither judge nor counsel wore any professional costume, and the court was without carpet, curtain, or decoration of any sort; simply a raised seat for the judge, and a few deal benches for the bar, jury, witnesses, and spectators. The only judges in the United States who wear silk gowns are the judges of the Supreme Court. In the Circuit Court of Appeal two judges were sitting in banco. The hall was neatly fitted up and carpeted.

Law is cheap and speedy in its action in the “States;” the Americans are satisfied with it, and a foreigner has no right to find fault with the mere forms of a court, because they differ 0160 152 from those of his own country. As in Scotland, however, the cheapness with which a legal war can be waged, is productive of a very litigious spirit. Perhaps it is as well that law should be like all luxuries, dear. The new civil code of this state, adopted on the report of a commission appointed three or four years ago, is almost a model of good practical common sense, combined with a thorough knowledge of the main principles, as well as the practice of law. It works well, and has been largely drawn upon by the framers of our own Common Law Procedure Act. There is one part of the constitution of the State of New York lately introduced to which an Englishman cannot reconcile himself. The judges are elected by the suffrages of the electors of the districts, great or small, over which the judge is to preside. They are chosen for eight years, and have no retiring pension, but may be re-elected. Still there is always the possibility, if not probability, of a judge being sent back to practice at the bar. When the judges in England were freed from the influence of the court and political parties, by making their tenure of office for life, it was considered a great triumph of public opinion, and it has undoubtedly led to the necessary consequence; the best lawyers seek a seat on the bench, and adorn it. The puisne judges 0161 153 are invariably the best men. A seat in Parliament may, and sometimes does, it is true, promote an indifferent lawyer to preside over one of the Courts of Common Law, or Equity, though this is rare, and is a far less evil than the periodical election lately adopted by the state of New York, which must render the judge subordinate to those who have elected him. The salary, too, is small, 2,500 dollars or £500 a year. Certainly not enough to induce an able man to relinquish a large practice. Republics always pay those who serve them in a public capacity in a very niggardly spirit; and the United States are no exception to the rule. From the President, to the lowest custom-house officer, the salaries are too small.

After dinner I went to the Olympic Theatre, but found the pieces so very flat, that I was soon induced to leave; and one of the numerous bowling saloons, with which the city abounds, attracted my attention on my return. A long room, with an arched Gothic roof elaborately decorated, having at the upper end a raised dais, carpeted and fitted up with tables, sofas, and chairs, refreshments of all kinds, and cigars, gave the plebeian game of nine-pins quite an aristocratic appearance. Being invited to “exercise,” I declined. The greater part of the space is, of course, occupied by the 0162 154 alleys:—these are floored with a highly-polished hard wood, are about four feet wide, and perhaps sixty long. At the upper end are the pins, and a thickly padded leather screen to stop the ball. At the end of each alley stands a boy, to roll back, on a raised slide, the balls just delivered by the player.

The game is fatiguing, and a great favourite here. In Philadelphia a law was passed to put down this game—for what reason is not very readily apparent. In the act it was called “nine-pins;” but the number of the pins were quickly changed into ten instead of nine, by which simple means the law was evaded. Finding that this stiff-necked attempt to interfere with this really innocent amusement would not be obeyed, the act has been repealed.

Other great lounges are the oyster saloons. These are generally long, narrow, handsome rooms, elegantly furnished, and divided into snug little boxes, separated by curtains. At the entrance is a semicircular bar, at which beverages of all kinds are served out: most of these are excellent, and have been often described. Around these bars congregate the New York “loafer and rowdy”—two terms unknown in the Old World. Their prototypes at home would be the idle, restless, dissipated, vulgar frequenters of cider cellars, cigar divans, and other haunts of low vice and dissipation.

The back of these bars is usually adorned with some painting of a very stimulating character, after the French school. In these saloons, oysters, cooked in every conceivable manner, are served up. When stewed, they are delicious, but too large to be eaten uncooked, without some previous training. The Americans manage, somehow or other—and without mastication—to dispose of an oyster as large as the top of an ordinary tumbler—a feat which to me always appeared as difficult as any performed by the “Wizard of the North,” or Monsieur Houdin. Stewed terrapins and pickled clams are also peculiar to this country, and much eaten. Neither the one nor the other were to me palatable food. In every country taste varies; for it required some time to induce the native Americans to eat shrimps, although they are caught hill the neighbourhood of New York.

While on the subject of food, I may as well say, that in every part of the United States through which I travelled, except parts of Virginia and the Western States, I found it excellent. The hotels are well managed and reasonable in their charges, which vary from three dollars to one dollar a day, including the English charge for attendance. If the traveller require either wine or beer of any kind, it will be an extra charge. A bad custom of giving a 0164 156 fee to the waiter at the dinner-table has lately become prevalent, and should, for many reasons, be discouraged. It arises from selfishness and a desire to be better attended to than your neighbour, and makes the waiter uncivil and inattentive to those who give nothing. The usual hours for breakfast are from half-past seven to ten; dinner, at half-past one and four o'clock; at which latter hour I would advise all strangers to dine, as ladies then form part of the company, and the dinner is better served, and eaten more deliberately; tea is on the table at six; and, in general, a capital supper is served at nine or ten, and remains until midnight. Lobster salad, admirably made, is a very favourite dish at this meal.

At the hotels out of the large cities the hours are more regular, and usually there is but one table d'hote at one or two o'clock. On the whole, there is not much fault to be found with the arrangements of the hotels. A little more furniture in the bed-rooms would be desirable; and the Continental custom adopted by the Americans, of attaching newspapers in files to an iron frame, is very inconvenient to the mere reader for pleasure, though the reverse for the mercantile man. Sitting rooms are found in all the hotels, some of which are appropriated to ladies alone and their friends. Gentlemen who may 0165 157 be staying in the house have not access to them, unless in some way connected, or at least intimate with one or more of the ladies who occupy them. It is quite unnecessary to make any remarks upon the evils attending the practice of resigning the privacy of home for the less expensive maintenance of a family at an hotel. The custom is very general—is, in my opinion, most injurious, and I sincerely hope will, ere long, be almost entirely abandoned. Indifferent servants, early marriages, and economy, are the reasons assigned; but do not, I must say, justify the very general prevalence of the custom. That it must lead, in very many cases, to disastrous consequences, appears to me inevitable; though I should be sorry to give currency to half the statements made to me on this subject. English wives will judge for themselves.

The table at the large hotels is always well and plentifully supplied. In out-of-the-way places pork and eggs form too much the staple entertainment. The cookery is more French than English. Fruit and sweets of all kinds abound at every meal, and the quantity of strawberries eaten is really wonderful: plate after plate disappears with marvellous rapidity.

Pickled beef, clams, and other kindred stimulating dishes, are much eaten at tea. Wheaten bread and corn (Indian) are brought to table 0166 158 in endless variety. Thin rice cakes, eaten with treacle or molasses, are also favourites. The Americans are not delicate eaters, and occasionally shock a traveller, accustomed to good society, by mixing (to him) incongruous food, and by rather hasty and abrupt manners at table. At the same time, he must bear in mind that the persons usually met with at hotels are of the class of commercial travellers and lesser merchants at home. In criticising their manners this should not be forgotten.

To seize upon any peculiarity, and exaggerate it, is easy. To represent, as characteristic of a whole people, manners which are to be found in a mere section of it—to dress them up and present them to the reader in amusing language—may flatter national vanity; but it is highly unfair. The caricature is not the best likeness. I mixed, during several months, in every class of American society. The highly-bred English or French gentleman, accustomed to the best and most refined society, is not to be found in America: there is no school for such. But you will find, with this exception, most native Americans (I use this term advisedly, because the States are deluged with people from other countries, who are the loudest talkers and most obtrusively ill-mannered) superior in intelligence and manners to persons filling the same position elsewhere.

This is peculiarly the case with the lower order of agriculturists. Place the small yeoman or farm-labourer of England by the side of the same class in America, and the contrast is great. The coarse, heavy clothes, slouching, lumbering walk, rough speech, and lifeless stolidity of the one, do not appear in a favourable light by the side of the slim, active, light-clothed, intelligent, inquisitive, and somewhat restless American. I have often sighed to think that the figure before me, clad in fustian shooting-coat, plush waistcoat, knee-breeches, gaiters, and half-with a hundred-weight of iron on the soles, was a fair specimen of the English “raw material.” Those who have been in America will, I am sure, agree with me in this.

Ascending a little higher in the social scale, there is less to reform, and, therefore, less superiority. Still the manners of the retail dealer, easy and self-reliant, are a great improvement upon the cringing, humble servility often found in the shopkeeper at home.

Amongst professional men there is not much difference. Education rubs down the salient angles everywhere; but I almost incline to think that in this class the scale would turn the other way.

Really good society is not easy of access to a traveller in the United States; he must not only 0168 160 come well recommended, but must linger long upon his road.

The hotel, the steamboat, or the rail, are not fair places to judge of national manners, particularly in a nation composed of such heterogeneous materials as this. Quiet, educated people, in a republic, keep rather in the background; and such are to be found in all parts of the Union.

Society in New York has been much laughed at and abused. I do not feel that my experience would warrant me in doing so. Many a delightful day have I spent wandering on the banks of the Hudson, with kind, intelligent, and hospitable friends; whose homes were surrounded with every comfort and luxury, and whose doors were never closed against those who had a fair claim to enter them. They were, it is true, branded as “Aristocrats,” which, in America, means simply, that they did not interfere in politics or municipal elections—were not at home either on the platform or the stump—used some little discretion in the choice of society, and were content to live quietly and unseen amid the turmoil of the world around them. To differ, or to affect to differ, with the tastes and habits of the majority, is, in America, a crying sin: it is considered an assumption of superiority, as conveying an indirect reproof, 0169 161 and as indicating that their conduct and opinions are open to exception.

All society, in a city like New York, cannot be good; neither have I found it so elsewhere. Take class for class, and it need not blush by the side of its European competitors.

The north-eastern, or purely Yankee States, differ widely from the hot-tempered, generous, hospitable man of the South. The far West has a character of its own: all is wild, new, rough, and rude. As is the life, so are the people.

To know the Americans you must visit them. No written description will be just. Like a rule relating to the gender of French nouns, the exceptions will be so numerous, that in the end the rule itself will be forgotten.

Every climate, from tropical heat to Siberian cold; pursuits the most various; the wealthy, luxurious city, and the newly-planted log-hut, whose inhabitants see but the beasts of the field and the birds of the air, must and do present striking contrasts.

Women in the United States generally marry when mere girls. They are delicate, fragile, and beautiful. In roundness of form they are deficient, and almost always have bad teeth. An American lady is rarely seen on horseback; while a natural delicacy of constitution is not L 0170 162 often counteracted by living; much in the open air, and by healthy, if rather unfeminine, amusements. I believe that this is acknowledged and felt to be an evil, and that it will gradually give way to the good common sense for which the American people are so remarkable.

One peculiarity of American society deserves mention: young ladies, until they are married, enjoy great social freedom; they are permitted to go where they like, and do and say what they like. When married, however, all is changed; restraint—nay, even demureness of manner—is exacted. The English rule is reversed, and that most completely.

It may appear rash to say that I consider American women in general badly educated. Such, however, is my opinion, and it was not adopted hastily, or without some means of knowledge. Too much is attempted—too wide a scope embraced: it is the discursive system of the Scotch Universities applied to women, who are taught, and profess to know, not only those branches of knowledge which are properly within their sphere, but also those which, in the Old World, are studied by the stronger sex alone.

The public buildings in New York are generally well adapted for the purpose to which they 0171 163 are devoted, but are neither grand nor in very good taste. The Custom-house is an exception: it is constructed solely of marble, roof as well as walls, and is fireproof; the centre is a rotunda, well fitted up and handsome, but kept, I thought, much too hot. Nothing mean or paltry will meet the eye in New York, except sought in such parts as the “Five Points,” corresponding to our St. Giles', where negroes, Irish, and the vagabonds and scoundrels always abounding in large cities, fix their abodes, and find a refuge.

Tall, red brick houses, many-windowed, and plastered all over with signboards and names, occasionally diversified by an ambitious building of stone, from the streets. Wooden houses are fast disappearing; jalousie blinds abound, and long rows of canvass awnings stretch their protecting shield over the panting pedestrian. These are a good substitute for the heavy arcades of Italian towns, and possess one great advantage—they can be removed when not wanted. Many a time have I shivered under a damp, cold arcade in Italy, and longed to be able to roll it up like an American canvass awning.

In general, the private houses are too large for the number of servants kept, which leads to the uncomfortable practice of living almost entirely in the basement, and using the rest of the L 2 0172 164 house for reception rooms on grand occasions.

Servants are here a great plague. Most ladies consider them so, I believe, everywhere; but here the native-born Americans rarley condescend to this employment; and, when they do so, insist on treatment utterly at variance with those rules necessary in all well-regulated establishments. The servants are, therefore, chiefly Irish, or “Blacks.” May, is the great month for house-moving, both in the sense in which the word is generally used, and literally; for, as is well known, it is no uncommon practice here to move an entire house from one situation, and place it in another.

Simplicity and neatness within the city give place to a good deal of pretension and bad taste in the architecture of the private residences in the surrounding country, especially on the banks of the North River. Here wooden porticoes and colonnades meet you at every step, and of every variety of architecture—generally deviating slightly, to suit the taste of the owner or builder, from the pure models of antiquity. Pericles would sigh, and scarcely fancy himself again at Athens. In a new and extremely commercial country, it would be absurd to look for buildings which should rival those on the “Acropolis,” or houses like Italian palaces; but it would have been well if the aspiring and energetic 0173 165 inhabitants of this country had not, by an attempt to soar too high, fallen so low. Bad and meretricious as these buildings are when seen too close, at a distance the effect is good; and this is Jonathan's answer—so that it be a portico, no matter though it be a wooden one—“Distance lends deception to the view!” If the wood would not crack, and the paint rub off, or the columns stand upright, and not become ricketty, it would certainly be all the better.

On the churches no expense is spared. They are the ladies' pets, and decorated accordingly. St. Luke's (Episcopalian), Broadway, is exceedingly handsome outside; and within, during the evening service, was a perfect blaze of wax lights and chandeliers. This church is nearly the oldest in New York. A new Gothic Church, in Brooklyn, was also exciting great interest, and would have delighted the Rev. Mr. Bennett, of St. Barnabas, and his private theatrical “coadjutors.” Much attention is paid to the singing.

In the Episcopalian Churches there are some few verbal alterations in the service, in which vigour of expression is sacrificed to a false sense of delicacy. The Episcopalian Church throughout the States is not the favourite form of worship. Every kind of dissent is rife. At Boston, and some other parts of the north-eastern States, 0174 166 Unitarianism predominates. The incomes of the clergy arise entirely from pew rents and voluntary subscriptions. Where the preacher is popular, the pew rents are extravagantly high. Churches are constantly built by shareholders as speculations. An eloquent minister is obtained—a liberal salary given; the church is crowded; seats are let at a high—in many cases almost a fabulous price—and a large interest is secured on the money expended. Congregations, too, pride themselves on being select; and as much canvassing often takes place to procure a pew in a particular church as in England to gain an invitation to a select ball at Court or elsewhere. In my opinion, the whole system is rotten at the core; but, at the same time, I am quite aware that at home, where the clergyman is not appointed by, and is independent of, his congregation, many evils often arise. In this, as in many other cases, there are arguments pro and con .

I was much pleased with a little floating church for seamen, supported on two boats of thirty tons each, moored in the East River; the church was neatly fitted up, and capable of holding about 500 persons. While I was in New York, a concert was given at the Broadway Tabernacle for the benefit of another church. A great concourse of people assembled: 0175 167 the singing was good. The concert began with an anthem, sung by about fifty voices, followed by a most dolefully delivered prayer; after which some sacred and profane music was strangely jumbled together. The amusements terminated with a recitation, by Professor—, of a speech delivered during the struggle for independence. The propriety of introducing such a subject on such an occasion may be questioned.

Education is on an excellent footing. Besides the colleges and private schools, where a high course of instruction prevails, there are in each district public schools for the poor, supported by a tax levied on all real estate in the district. It follows, then, that the children of the really poor are educated gratuitously, as the tax falls upon those who are rich, or comparatively so, and who do not send their children to these schools. The scholars bring their own books. In the school at Brooklyn, visited by me, there were about 500 children of all ages (boys and girls), from four to fifteen. The system of instruction seemed kind and effective—the manner of the teachers affectionate and agreeable. The children held dialogues, and recited; even the youngest acquitted themselves creditably. Religious information was evidently, much attended to; but it was general and practical— 0176 168 not doctrinal. The whole school received, during my visit, a lesson in music on “Hullah's” principle. It was delightful to see the little things—many almost infants—keep time with precision, and to hear their feeble voices mingling harmoniously with those of their seniors. The teachers were very capable, superior persons. My visit pleased me greatly; and I came away impressed with the idea, that the school was a credit to its district, to its teachers and scholars, and every one connected with it.

In the present state of New York, the tax for the common school education is more heavy than our income tax: it amounts, I believe, to nearly, if not quite, five per cent. on the rateable property. When, as, in America, the whole power of the State centres in the masses, it is not only a duty, but an act of self-preservation on the part of those who have anything to lose, to place instruction so generally within the reach of the poor as to fit them for the proper exercise of the rights and privileges of freemen. By this means alone can the selfish demagogue be prevented from exercising such control as must inevitably lead to the utter extinction of all real freedom. This truth, I am happy to say, is fully recognised in the State of New York.

Charitable institutions abound, but, with the 0177 169 exception of a large casualty hospital in Broadway, are situated some distance from the city on the road to Haarlem, and also on the banks of the North River.

No one can stroll along the vast blocks of stores, lining each river on either side of this city, without being greatly struck by the extent of the business which must be transacted. Everything in the commercial world moves with startling rapidity. A crisis arrives; its effects are severely felt; credit (an American's money) is gone: for a time all is prostrate. People then begin to look about them. Those who have saved something do business quietly, pay well, and credit again rises; with it larger speculations are undertaken—until at last all again get beyond their depth, and another check is the consequence. In England a commercial crisis is felt only by the few. Here, as all are engaged, all suffer. Few are the idlers in New York: such a life is far from being esteemed, and is almost sure to lead to vice. Station in society is lost rather than gained by it. I do not mean to imply that property will not here, as well as in other countries, raise its possessor in the social scale; but merely that a man is expected to strive to increase in some career or other even that which he hath. In this active and busy hive, drones are out of place, and generally 0178 170 seek an asylum in the gay abandon of Paris or Vienna.

Before I leave New York, let me take the reader to the terrace of the Castle Gardens, which, I have before said, is the most charming promenade in the city. The building stands on a little island jutting out into the bay, and is joined to the rest of the city by a slight wooden bridge. It forms the apex of the triangular promontory on which the city of New York is built. In front are “The Narrows” and high lands adjoining: hundreds of white sails flit about in every direction; steamers without end advance like giants, tracing their progress through the water by forming waves, spreading wider and wider as the huge machines approach. On the right bank is a line of blue hills, called Staten Island, and Hoboken, the resort of the citizens on pleasure parties and pic-nics. Carrying the eye further on, and passing the town of Weehawken, the fine bold ridge of granite rocks called the “Palisades” bound the river for some miles. Full in front is Governor's Island, crowned with a fortress commanding the entrance to both ports, and Bedloe's Island, which is used as a convict establishment. On the other side of the East River stands the town of Brooklyn, picturesquely built on rising ground, and separated from the main city of New York by 0179 171 a crowd of shipping. The scene is most lovely. God, in his wisdom, has been bountiful, and the genius of this industrious people has made a good use of the “talent” confided to them.

FROM NEW YORK TO CANADA.—HUDSON RIVER.—WEST POINT ACADEMY.—THE HIGH-LANDS.—KAATSKILL MOUNTAINS.—PINE ORCHARD.—ALBANY.—TROY.—ERIE RAILROAD.—NEGRO CARS.—VALLEY OF THE MOHAWK.—LITTLE FALLS.—HERKIMER.—GERMAN EMIGRANTS. UTICA.—ROME.—SYRACUSE.—SALINA.—SALT WORKS.—CANAL TO OSWEGO.—LAKES IN THE STATE OF NEW YORK.—LAKE GEORGE.—WARLIKE EVENTS.—DRUNKENNESS.—LAKE ONTARIO.—ENTRANCE OF ST. LAWRENCE.—KINGSTON.—BAY OF QUINTÉ

I left New York for Albany by the steamer, and travelled 145 miles with great comfort, in nine hours, for a dollar and a half (6s.)

The Hudson is a noble stream. One bank, for some miles after leaving New York, is covered with country houses and their pleasure grounds; the other is bounded by a flat ridge of rocks, rising to a height of about 500 feet, forming a strong contrast to the gently sloping shore of the opposite bank. Above this the river expands into a broad sheet of water, called the Tappaan Zee. Next, the boat rapidly glides through a succession of apparently small lakes, 0181 173 twisting and turning through abrupt precipitous rocky hills, but covered with small timber to the water's edge. This is the most beautiful part of the stream. Like the Rhine forcing its way through the Taunus range of hills, the Hudson is here compelled to yield to the nature of the ground .Beautiful, indeed, are the little lake-like expansions, which here form the river. West Point, situated on the shore of one of these, is a little Eden; and some care has been judiciously exercised in not defacing this retired nook, more than is absolutely necessary, by the buildings of the well-known Military Academy. West Point has been so often described, that it is unnecessary for me to dwell upon it here. It is the only military training school the United States possess, and is regarded by the mass of the people with great jealousy—some difficulty being generally experienced in passing the annual vote for its support through Congress. The discipline maintained is very strict. Very many of the students leave before their course of study expires. Most young men are, in all countries, impatient of restraint, and are particularly so in America; added to which, the military profession does not hold the same rank in society as in other countries: it is simply tolerated as a necessary nuisance. The army is very small (about 9,000 men), and is chiefly employed in 0182 174 small detachments in the thankless, dull, inglorious duty of guarding the extended frontier of the Union against the Indians. The irregular force looks down upon the regular; the colonel of militia is a greater man than the colonel Of the regular army. The soldiers are almost all Irish and Dutch, with some few deserters from English regiments quartered in Canada. Few native Americans will enlist—and they are right; no career offers so little inducement. The officers are so scattered, that they have no “mess,” which, in most services, promotes esprit du corps , and gives a higher tone both of manners and feeling.

Above this the stream flows through a level country, abounding in clean, snug little towns, and here and there a residence of the better class perched on some knoll, or on the shore of a green little bay. These houses have invariably some attempt at architectural beauty, and none are without wide sweeping verandahs. At Kingston the Kaatskill mountains, the scene of Rip Van Winkle's twenty years' nap, come into sight. This range is thickly timbered throughout, and is some distance from the river; the intervening space being a level plain of about ten or twelve miles broad, only partially cleared, and thinly inhabited. The banks gradually become more tame, the stream narrower, the 0183 175 current more rapid; and navigation for vessels of any burthen ceases at Troy, about five miles above Albany. As far as Albany the average width of the almost currentless stream is about a mile; and I myself saw a square-rigged ship of about 400 tons burden lying off a wharf more than 100 miles from New York. Its capabilities for navigation may, therefore, be imagined.

On my return from Canada I landed at this part of the river to pay a visit of a few days to the far-famed Pine Orchard Hotel, situated on this range of mountains, 3,000 feet above the level of the sea. The ascent of the mountain offers most lovely views over an immense extent of country; and the spot on which the hotel stands is one of the most striking in the world. A small space, at the very brink of a precipice 1,500 feet deep, has been cleared; on this, within a fewyards of the edge, stands the hotel. The view is magnificent. An immense tract of country lies below you, through which the white stream of the Hudson flows like a silken thread. The dark foliage of the trees, and the little towns on the margins of the stream, enable the eye to trace its course mile after mile—until to the south it is lost among the high lands about West Point, and to the north among the hills of Connecticut. The view extends at least 100 miles in every direction, presenting a most exquisite 0184 176 panorama of a large part of the States of New York, Massachusetts, Connecticut, and Vermont. One cannot help being struck with the immense quantity of forest still standing, the small part of the country which is under arable cultivation, and the apparent spareness of the population, in so old settled a district, and so near a city which may be said to be, not only the capital of the State of New York, but of the whole Union. The scenery of the surrounding mountain range is very beautiful, though it scarcely rises into grandeur: dark forests cover the surface, and deep ravines, with small streamlets of water, intersect the range everywhere. The change in climate, too, is great. I left Saratoga Springs in the month of August, reduced, by the extreme heat, to a state of almost total blindness. In three or four days the tonic air of the “Mountain House” completely restored my sight. The difference in temperature was about thirty degrees (after sunset); though, during the day, not quite so much.

The banks of the river at Albany were crowded with steamers of all sizes—one in particular, the “Empire City,” being of 1,000 horse-power, and exactly the sixteenth of a mile in length. In these river boats the machinery is all on deck; nothing, therefore, interferes with the saloon below, which, in this boat, ran 0185 177 the whole length of the vessel, was elaborately decorated, and adorned from one end to the other with carefully-painted marine and fancy subjects. The deck was supported by graceful Corinthian columns, showily gilded. This boat was the crack vessel on the river, and had accomplished a speed of twenty-two miles an hour. In the Hudson there is scarcely any current, and the tide is but slightly felt; the water is smooth, the river wide, and not crowded with vessels: nothing, therefore, interferes with the management or great speed of these boats. The wheel is forward on a raised deck, a few feet from the bows; the rudder chains are of iron, and conducted along either side of the upper or hurricane-deck on grooves and rollers. The position of the wheel is very advantageous for the man at the helm, as he has a perfect command of every object around him, and can steer the vessel alongside the various wharves at the stopping places with precision. Nothing, indeed, can be more admirable than the way in which this is managed; no time is lost, and there is no noise or bustle. The Americans take great pride in these boats, and spare no expense upon them; every possible comfort is to be had on board; and, from their peculiar construction, there is good shelter from the weather, without going below into a close cabin. M 0186 178 The meals are well served; the “Bar” produces every kind of beverage, from gin-slings and brandy cock-tails to soda-water and mineral water from the Saratoga and Balston Springs. The barber's shop is never absent, and always filled with candidates—for the razor. Those Americans who travel much rarely shave themselves. In English steam-boats the ladies are generally worse accommodated than travellers of the stronger sex. In America this is not the case: the best part of the boat is reserved for their accommodation. All must give way to them. No man is admitted into the dining saloon until all the ladies are seated at the table, when they rush in pell-mell. After that, should a lady require either, the chair is, without ceremony, taken from under you, and the plate from before you. No male epicure will here be able to gratify his appetite with tit-bits. Should he make an attempt to do so, it will be futile. “A lady, sir!” is considered sufficient. Away goes his plate, which can only be followed by a sigh: remonstrance would be vain. The Americans pride themselves upon this courtesy to women, and consider it a sign of high civilization; and they are, no doubt, right; but it seemed to me to be carried to an extreme, that women were treated like petted children, and that they must often feel rather annoyed 0187 179 than pleased by the excessive politeness and consideration shown them. At the same time, it is an honour to this country that an unprotected woman of any age may travel through its length and breadth, from Boston to New Orleans, from New York to the farthest West, without an insult, or the slightest attempt to take advantage of her youth or inexperience.

Let us, however, find our way through lines of huge stores to Delavan's Hotel, and after tea look around. This town, it is almost needless to say, is one of the oldest in the States, was founded by the early Dutch settlers, and is the capital of the State of New York. Here the Senate and House of Representatives for that State hold their sittings. As Europeans are often not well versed in the American constitution, I may as well say that each State has its own Senate and Representatives, its own Governor, and its own courts of law and judges. Besides this, it returns, according to its population, a certain number of Senators and Representatives to the federal government at Washington; but within its own borders it is entirely independent of the federal power; except in certain cases, and on certain subjects, of sufficient importance to concern the Union at large. On all purely local matters it is practically an independent power. M 2

The town is built on ground rising rather abruptly from the river, and partakes largely of the Dutch character. The main street, called State-street, is broad and well built, but badly paved, and full of rubbish and dirt; it terminates in a garden or square, in which stands the City Hall, State House, Academy, and Shire Hall. The State House is in pure taste and massive, the City Hall less so. The Baptist Chapel of Ionic architecture is one of the most imposing buildings in the town. Trees abound in the streets, and the whole of the upper part of the City is well laid out in good streets and squares, devoted entirely to private residences. A sombre, grave, old-fashioned solidity and gravity reigns throughout this part of the town. Near the river, all is new, staring, bustling and thriving, a thing of to-day, whereas above we are carried back to the past, the era of Hendrick Hudson and his immediate companions.

Five miles above Albany on the other bank of the river, stands the rival town of Troy. This place is of far more recent origin, but has risen rapidly, and bids fair to outstrip as a commercial entrepôt its older neighbour. The Erie canal and the Mohawk river enter the Hudson almost opposite Troy, which gives it an advantage over Albany. These towns, like Sparta 0189 181 and Athens, have an undying feud and hatred of each other.

A railroad of a rather indifferent kind, with steep inclined planes, carried me through Schendctady and Utica to Syracuse. There is but one fare on American railroads, not as with us, various classes. The carriages are all alike; they are long, have a passage through the centre, from end to end, and rows of benches on either side; each holding two persons. In cold weather a stove is fixed in the passage of each carriage. On the outside at either end is a small platform, partly surrounded by an iron railing; on this you can stand without danger, while the train is in motion, and by means of it pass from one carriage to another along the whole train. This is a very great convenience.

Each train has a separate carriage for negroes and coloured people, who are not permitted to ride in the same vehicle with their white brethren. This is an anomaly in a Republic where all profess to be equal; but it has been so often alluded to that I may be pardoned for not enlarging much upon it here.

It does not of course touch the question of slavery, New York being a non-slaveholding State; it is simply one, out of the many galling ways, in which a free negro, in a free state, is made conscious of his social inferiority. Indeed 0190 182 (although the readers and admirers of Uncle Tom, and other similar tales, may not readily believe it), the negro, when free in the eye of the law, is much less considerately or kindly treated by his white fellow citizens, than as a slave, by his master. The reason probably is this—a slave cannot and dare not presume; kindness, nay even affection, may be shown to him with impunity, “whereas that free nigger must be taught his place,” and kept in it.

Those who have lived long among a large negro population must and do know that social equality is out of the question. Ask any European “whether he would like his sister to marry a black man, though it were even Soulouque, Emperor of Hayti.” What would be the answer? In the affirmative? I trow not. A natural and universal instinct says, Nay. The Americans consider this a fair touchstone, and it is one in common use among them when pressed upon the point. They endeavour to palliate unnecessary harshness by putting an extreme case, and attack the judgment by an appeal to the feelings. Circumstances, only known to the initiated, partly excuse, but cannot justify, the extreme contumely with which free blacks are treated in the non-slaveholding States. On this subject, and that of slavery, the Americans are very sensitive. Few defend slavery in the abstract; 0191 183 it is admitted to be a gross wrong, and unjustifiable; but those who, from residence in the Southern States, are competent to give an opinion, state emphatically, that the few cases which have, during the last few years, been so ably, painfully, but dramatically brought before the public, are most unfair representations of the practical working of the system, as a whole, and with reference to the negro character. There are many sober-thinking people in the free states who are of opinion that the excessive zeal of the Abolitionists has done more harm than good; that the high-spirited planters and slave-holders in the south have been more irritated than convinced by their agitation; and that what would have been gradually given up under a more gentle pressure from without, will be adhered to pertinaciously, when coercion and abuse axe the weapons of attack. I am by no means sure that there is not a good deal of force in this opinion, from my own observation of the character and temperament of the southern planters.

Until the railway enters the valley of the Mohawk, the country is barren and desolate. This stream runs through a well-settled and fertile country. Village succeeds village in rapid succession—the district being thickly peopled. In many places, as at the “Little Falls of the 0192 184 Mohawk,” the country assumes a rocky, rugged but highly-picturesque character. At this spot there are several large woollen mills, and the district has, in consequence, every appearance of prosperity. At the railway station crowds of people attend, offering sparkling little stones, something like the Brighton diamonds, for sale. Between this place and Herkimer there are large colonies of Germans, who, when they emigrate, usually do so in large numbers. Not only whole families, but frequently the entire population of a considerable district, leave their home together, cross the Atlantic in the same ship, and occupy the same tract of their adopted country. In many parts of the United States, and particularly so in Pennsylvania and New York, a traveller might imagine himself in Germany. The dress, the language, and the habits of their fatherland, are so religiously adhered to by these sober, industrious, but rather ignorant colonists, that the Anglo-Saxon element modifies hardly perceptibly their distinctive nationality. I think that at Harrisburg, in Pennsylvania, I noticed this more than in any other part of the States visited by me—though about German flats and Herkimer it is also very marked. At Harrisburgh, even the newspaper offered to me was written in the German language. They are considered in the 0193 185 States to be what Charles Dickens calls the Hudson Bay Company—viz., “Stop-the-Way” people—and the repudiating Pennsylvanians lay the entire blame of the non-payment some years ago of the interest on their State debt to the German influence in the local legislature. The debt was incurred by the construction of canals and railways; which, crossing the Alleghany mountains, opened up the Western States. The facility, therefore, with which emigrants could obtain access to the fertile, cheap land of Ohio, induced them to pass by the already settled districts in Pennsylvania, where land was comparatively dear; and consequently it was found that the farms occupied by the Pennsylvanian settlers did not increase in value, as it was anticipated they would do, by those who first reclaimed them from the forest. The Germans, therefore, said—“We have been injured instead of benefitted by your internal improvements, and consequently we will not tax ourselves to pay for the outlay incurred.”

The trains stop frequently for refreshments, which consist chiefly of pastry and other kindred eatables. Amazing cups of tea are swallowed in an almost scalding state. The hotels in this part of the State of New York are chiefly conducted on the temperance principle. The feeling against drinking is general. 0194 186 Active measures are taken to suppress it, and, it appeared to me, with success. The newspapers are full of articles against this vice, and the walls of the hotels covered with highly-coloured prints, professing to show the state of the internal economy of those who drink spirits to any extent—from the mere occasional sipper of a glass, to the confirmed sot. The gradations of inflammatory action were too carefully regulated to be strictly true to nature. Where the worst stage was depicted, the eye could scarcely rest on the subject for a moment, so horribly disgusting did it appear! As a warning, these prints, doubtless, do good. At Baggs's Hotel, in Utica (where I dined and slept), about forty people were at table, and not one drank anything but tea and water. Very few afterwards went to the bar to drink, which, in the more Southern States, is the usual practice. Wines are exceedingly clear throughout the Union. No decent Madeira, which is the favourite wine, is anywhere to be had for less than one-and-a-half or two dollars the bottle: other wines are about the same price. There is a Madeira (Governor Kirby's) in the Astor House wine list at fifteen dollars a bottle. I wonder who drinks it. In New York a great quantity of Champagne (real and fictitious) is consumed. It is said that much of it is manufactured from New Jersey turnips.

The evenings hang heavily on a traveller's hands in most of the towns in the States. The bar, with the commercial tone of its conversation, and the other public rooms, are but indifferent lounges. One's own bed-room is not a tempting place for any other purpose than sleep. Public amusements worth going to, are rarely found; nor are there any of those cheap, agreeable cafés and other lounges which abound in Continental towns. Utica is, in this respect, quite en regle ; and, indeed, I found it so throughout the States, except at the large cities on the seacoast.

The distinctive characteristics of pure, unadulterated Yankeeism, are largely developed in Utica: even the passing traveller will at once detect this. It is a manufacturing town, and highly flourishing, and will doubtless, as they say for themselves, still go-ahead.

Exceedingly unfavourable weather prevented my visiting the Trenton Falls, which lie a few miles from this place; and I was obliged to content myself with a stroll through the Museum, in which were exhibited, as a curiosity, a pair of ordinary half-boots worn by labouring men at home. Under them was this inscription—“Shoes such as are worn by the peasantry in England!” Even the ploughman in the States does his work in Wellington boots, and would scorn to be shod in any other manner. Some 0196 188 of the streets are very pretty and neat. Little white porticoed and pillared dwellings, snugly placed each in its small garden, a light-painted fence dividing it from the pavements—every window being, as usual, provided with green Venetian blinds—line each side. The pavement is shaded by a row of trees planted on the outside of the path. These cottages must please an English eye, being pictures of order, cleanliness, and comfort. It would be unfair to criticise the taste of the architecture of these little pill-boxes. They are beneath criticism, and yet immeasurably above it.

As usual, the place abounds with gigantic red brick stores—hideous, but useful. An auctioneer, standing on a barrel in the street selling goods, amused me infinitely. Clever roguery, amazing quickness, perseverance, low wit, and apparently instinctive knowledge of character, were displayed by this man.

No one but a Yankee could have done it in the same style. Those who have read—and who has not?—Halliburton's “Sam Slick” may have some notion of this man's soft sawder, and mode of doing business; but he appeared to me to distance his prototype hollow.

The country between this place and Syracuse is flat and uninteresting, and very thinly settled. Even the City of Rome consists of a few 0197 189 ambitious taverns, and a log hut or two. The City of Syracuse, on the contrary, has advanced with giant strides, and is a place of large population and commercial importance. It is built in a most excellent commercial position. The Buffalo Railroad and the Erie Canal run through it, and the Oswego Canal brings down to this point the commerce of Lake Ontario.

This canal conveyed me next day to Oswego. The boat was good, but very full of passengers and baggage. The speed attained is great; at times six miles an hour. Everything as usual was well managed and arranged; done on the go a-head principle and well—nationally characteristic. A functionary, who performed the arduous and double duty of barber and steward, after some time came on deck, and while ringing a bell, chaunted in good nasal tones—

“All you who have not paid your fare, Step down, you'll find the Captain there,”

which poetical command was immediately obeyed by all; for nothing can exceed the implicit obedience always yielded at once by the Americans when travelling to those in authority on railroads, steamers, or stages, or the good temper with which any mishap is borne. This struck me as being a curious trait in the American character, for no people on other occasions like to feel the curb of authority less. 0198 190 It is so, however, as I have repeatedly witnessed. When an Englishman will fume, and fret and perhaps swear, the American says it cannot be helped, and quietly goes to work to mend matters as soon as possible.

The number of bridges is a great nuisance, as many of these scarcely clear the deck by more than two feet. When this is the case, the scramble and crushing which takes place when the deck is thickly covered with people may be imagined. A warning voice continually exclaims “high bridge,” or “low bridge,” according to circumstances; and the rule of polite life is reversed; the lower the object, the more abject the bow.

The locks are numerous and the boat is drawn into them at full speed. At first, I supposed it would be seriously injured; but the mode adopted to prevent this is simple and effectual. A coil of rope attached to the boat is always ready. When the bow enters the lock, a man instantly jumps ashore, passes the rope three or four times round a strong post, driven for the purpose, and gently eases the boat in. The rope becomes, by the constant and excessive friction, quite limp, although strong, and does its work admirably. Those who know how much care is usually required in stopping a heavy boat with a momentum acquired by a five 0199 191 or six miles speed through water, will imagine that it must require some skill and practice to do this well, in so small a space as an ordinary lock.

The canal sometimes enters and merges in the Onondaga river, and at others is cut parallel to it, but never leaves its banks far. For the first few miles after leaving Syracuse, the Onondaga lake is close to the canal on the left, and very large salt works are carried on, at a place called Salina. The borings from whence the salt is obtained are sunk in the marshy ground which borders the lake. The springs are excessively saline; as much as sixteen or eighteen pounds of pure salt are obtained from one hundred pounds weight of water. The manufacture is carried on in three different modes. By solar evaporation in large wooden vats, about a foot deep; by evaporation also in large iron pans; and thirdly by boiling the water in what are termed “blocks” of deep kettles, ranged in parallel rows. The last is the most expeditious mode, but the salt yielded is not so pure. In this last process, quicklime is used, which precipitates whatever impurities there may be in the water. An immense space is covered by the evaporating vats, and the surface of the ground for several miles is more or less encrusted with chrystallized salt. The 0200 192 annual produce amounts to nearly 5,000,000 bushels. I state this on the authority of the most recent returns, which (as these salt works are the property of the State of New York, and not of private individuals), I presume, are correct.

The falls in the river near Oswego are very beautiful. In some directions the country is rather pretty, which, indeed, is almost universally the case, wherever there is water not in the nature of a swamp. The number of small lakes is one of the leading features of this State.

In the Genessee country, and still further to the south, they literally abound. Generally, their length is far greater than their width; the former sometimes reaching twenty-five or thirty miles; the latter rarely more than five or six. They add to the beauty, but interfere with the resources, of the country, and intercept communication, as they are seldom navigable, except for small boats. Like overgrown schoolboys, they are large enough to be troublesome and in the way, and not big enough to be useful. Lake Champlain, to the north, is, of course, an exception; and its neighbour, Lake George, is so lovely, that it would be almost a pity to furrow its tranquil bosom with mere merchantmen. Let the gliding canoe, or the gay pleasure boat, be borne on its surface; but save it, oh! ye race of traders, from the barge or the scow.

On my return from Canada, by the way of Lake Champlain, I passed by this lake. Almost every one is familiar with the exceeding beauty of this little gem of Transatlantic scenery, and has shuddered over the pages of history which record the fearful tragedies enacted on its banks. For four years, from 1755 to 1759, the sweet repose of this lovely lake, was disturbed by the din, tumult, and complicated horrors, of a sanguinary and savage war. And again, during the protracted struggle which ended in the severance of the connection between this country and England, many passages of arms took place ace here between the belligerent forces, though none equalling in savage atrocity, those of Montcalm and his Indian allies.

Places of real historical interest are rare in this comparatively new country; and, as I gazed on the scene around me, I could not help thinking how great is the privilege enjoyed by a people, who can point out few such tranquil spots as this, rendered famous, or infamous, by the fierce passions and strife of man.

The best land, and the most improved in the State of New York for farming purposes, lies between Auburn and Buffalo. This Genesee country is celebrated throughout the Union. Land, therefore, is dear. An improved farm is nowhere to be had under forty dollars an acre, N 0202 194 and, in many places, double this sum. The price of everything, all over the world, is regulated by the advantages to be derived from the purchase, except in those things which are mere luxuries.

Land at a dollar an acre, uncleared, will often be dearer to the purchaser, than improved land at fifty times that sum. The poor man must go farther, buy cheap, labour, and take his chance; but the farmer with good capital would do well to give this district a look before proceeding beyond it. Yet let him take care that he does not buy a “used-up” farm; for land, even in the favoured Genesee country, may be run out by twelve successive grain crops without manure. The fruit grown in this part of the State is most excellent; and the hot sun of summer gives a flavour to wall fruits unknown in England.

This is, however, a digression. We have no business now in the Genesee country, but are supposed to be at the United States Hotel at Oswego.

The town is built on the banks of the river Oswego, over which has been constructed a long, rough wooden bridge. Limestone being largely used in the buildings, gives it a less crude and staring appearance than most other towns in this part of the world. From its position, as the nearest port on Lake Ontario to New 0203 195 York and the Eastern States, it should become a place of great trade. It has, nevertheless, been long stationary, if not retrograding. A few lake craft were lying in the harbour. The Erie Canal and the St. Lawrence are its rivals for the carrying trade from the Western country; but I was informed that, notwithstanding these are formidable competitors, this place should be able, not only to compete with them, but to do so successfully. Somehow or other it does not, and, therefore, I cannot help thinking it ought not; for mercantile men rarely err in these matters.

A trip of four hours in the Oneida steamer took me across Lake Ontario to Kingston. The day was hazy, and we, therefore, soon lost sight of land. The appearance of these large freshwater lakes, differs but slightly from that of the sea; and, as the motion was considerable, many persons were sick. The distance from Oswego to Kingston is between fifty and sixty miles. The entrance to the St. Lawrence river at Kingston is very beautiful; the shores are wooded to the water's edge; and, although rather low, are prettily cut up into little bays; while smooth channels of clear, pellucid water, separate from each other the charming little islands which here abound.

Kingston is built entirely of limestone: there N 2 0204 196 is not a brick building in the place. Daly's Hotel looked dirty and mean, after the large, well-conducted establishments found everywhere in the United States. I found that this was the case all over Canada, except Montreal. They are far behind their neighbours in everything but the glass used in their establishments. In Canada it is pure and white; in the States green-coloured, and dirty-looking. Every one must admit that a good tumbler is a luxury; and most ladies prefer that their looking-glass should not cast a pea-green shade over their complexion.

While the seat of government was at Kingston (in the time of Sir C. Metcalfe), great improvements were made to meet the immediate wants of the Government officials; but it has not increased much, either in population or commerce, since that time.

The same evening I proceeded to my destination, on the bay of Quinté, by steamer. This bay begins about seven miles from Kingston, and varies in width from three and a half miles to a mile. A long, low island, first divides it from the main lake of Ontario. The bay thence turns in winding bends between Prince Edward's peninsula and the main land for about forty more; the shores are limestone, and well wooded, in most places to the water's edge— 0205 197 great quantities of cedar trees and firs dipping their branches into the water. Its natural beauties are very great: it abounds in fish; some of the best shooting in Canada is within a short distance of its shores, and the land, for farming purposes, is not much inferior to that in the most favoured districts. The climate is less severe at Kingston than it is lower down the St. Lawrence, at Montreal or Quebec, but more so than at the other end of Lake Ontario and the remainder of the Province of Canada West (or, as it is usually called), Upper Canada. It is not, therefore, surprising that this district should be well settled; though it does not deserve, in my opinion, the very high character which some person writing from Picton, in Prince Edward's peninsula, has lately given it. When I read his letters in a leading morning paper in England, I could not but hope that there would be few, who would act upon them. The following extract from a settler in this district, of some years' experience, may not be thought out of place here:—

“The letters to which you allude, which were published in England, I saw copied into our local papers. I do not, at this moment, recollect their precise tenor; but, if they were founded on fact at all, they were not only a striking exception to the general rule, but also 0206 198 highly coloured by the sanguine expectations of a recent settler, but little experienced in the country. Anything like prosperity among the farmers is very far from the cry, and equally so from the fact, I can assure you. The Canadian farmer is independent, because he has no rent to pay, and no taxes of any consequence; but he is a thoroughly hard-working man from sunrise to sunset in all weather and in all seasons. The same is the case with his wife and daughters in their own sphere. We are, in fact, peasants on one side of the picture, and, on the other, in a condition infinitely superior. The great drawback upon farming here is the high—indeed the inordinately high—rate of wages paid to all labourers or domestic servants.

“To talk of farming at a profit, or almost at all, while the prices of produce are so inconsistent with the price of labour, is a farce. I can only say that on my property I have found it for the last few years more prudent and advantageous to banish, except at long intervals and indispensable occasions, all hired labourers. W—and I do the entire work; and the degree to which labour on a farm can, under these circumstances, be restricted, and the amount which we can ourselves perform, would surprise you. I do not deny that we sometimes rebel, and that the word ‘drudgery’ comes uppermost 0207 199 most with an ugly sound; but you must make some allowance for our antecedents. We get on pretty well; but all thought of profit from farming has been abandoned by me for many years past. I agree with you, therefore, in thinking, that it is very wrong to place before the public a statement, which experience would not confirm.”

Before I describe this part of Canada, and my mode of life during many months, I will ask the reader to accompany me to Niagara Falls and their neighbourhood.

KINGSTON TO NIAGARA.—COBURG.—PORT HOPE.—TORONTO.—APPEARANCE OF THE TOWN.—YONGE STREET.—LAKE SIMCOE.—PROSPECTS OF FARMING.—NIAGARA RIVER.—QUEENSTOWN AND LEWISTOWN.—BROCK'S MONUMENT.—RAILROAD TO THE FALLS.—CLIFTON HOTEL.—FERRY.—TERMINATION ROCK.—A FEW WORDS ON THE FALLS.—WHIRLPOOL.—HOT SPRINGS AT CHIPPEWA.—THE RAPIDS.—MANCHESTER.—BUFFALO.—LAKE ERIE.—HIGH PRESSURE STEAMER.—PORT ROWAN.—DEER SHOOTING.—PINE BARRENS.—AGUE.—MAPLE SUGAR.—RELIGIOUS RANTING.—VICTORIA.—SIMCOE.—BRANTFORD.—HAMILTON.—RETURN TO KINGSTON.

MY two companions in this excursion, were desirous of seeing some of the Western part of the Province, before they determined upon purchasing land, on the shores of the Bay of Quinté; although much pleased with that part of the country. We left, therefore, for Kingston, early in the morning, and wandered about that peculiarly uninteresting place, until eight in the evening, when the steamer left for Toronto. The distance is about 160 miles. The fare was five dollars, and every comfort 0209 201 provided for the passengers. An accident to the machinery, compelled us to perform the greater part of the distance, with only one wheel; which, of course, delayed us some hours. We touched at Coburg and at Port Hope. The former is a flourishing place, with a fine hillyback country; the latter, particularly beautiful in situation, with also a good fertile district lying behind it. The banks of the Lake are not very low, neither is there any headland or range of country of any height; flatness is the great characteristic of the whole upper province. There is but one range of hills, reaching a height of 300 or 400 feet. This ridge begins in the neighbourhood of the Falls, and runs through the whole province to the eastward; being called its backbone. The appearance of Toronto from the water is by no means imposing, and, unlike Kingston, nearly every house is of red brick, and peculiarly English-looking.

A long spit, or tongue of land, juts far out into the lake, on the Kingston side, forming the harbour; vessels, therefore, coming from the eastward, must make a long detour before they can enter.

We took up our quarters at the American Hotel. The streets are regular and wide, and the shops excellent; but, even at this season of the year (June), muddy ruts, four or five inches 0210 202 in depth, cut up the roads in every direction. Out of the main streets the houses are generally detached, and have very pretty little gardens. Many nursery and seedmen's shops show that a taste for flowers and gardening is general. Being the oldest place in Upper Canada, and long the seat of government, it has possessed many advantages; and the result is apparent, in an air of refinement, and prosperity. The Law Courts are still here; the College is well-managed, and beautifully situated. The population is about 20,000. We made an excursion up Yonge Street, for about twenty miles, on the road to Lake Simcoe; the ground undulates. This road is macadamized, with here and there a patch of “corduroy;” the most villainous style of road-making in existence; logs, split into two pieces, are laid across the road, and the interstices filled with mud. When quite new and sound, this mode of roadmaking is bearable, but it very soon, in all cases, gets out of order; huge gaps form between the logs, into which the wheels plunge, at almost every turn. The jolting is horrible: no other pace than a walk is at all bearable, and even that, in a Canada waggon without springs, often induces a novice to prefer walking, to the constant bumping of these miserable vehicles. Custom in this, as in other things, gradually reconciles you, and 0211 203 practice teaches, that all parts of the waggon are not equally uneasy, “as in life, the middle place is best.” The country was cheerless, the farmbuildings unfinished, and few crops growing in the fields; like an old Roud, it was withering under hard usage. We looked over several farms: some were good, others bad, but all highpriced relatively. Many large tracts were covered with pine trees, and, therefore, otherwise barren.

About ten miles from Toronto the land improves. Nearly every farmer appeared to be not only willing but desirous of parting with his land—if a purchaser could be found—denoting either that farming is unremunerative, or the farmer extravagant, and, therefore, involved. The truth is, that people come to the colony with small resources and old-country habits, and soon dissipate whatever capital they bring with them. Discontent, neglect of their business, and reckless improvidence, follow. Too much is expected from a small capital; and it is only when too late, that emigrants find out the real truth, that none but hard-working, careful people, can succeed here—unless backed by an income, drawn from other sources than their farms.

The Queen Victoria steamer carried us from Toronto to Niagara in three and a half hours. 0212 204 This little town is at the mouth of the Niagara river. Opposite is an American fort, which seemed much neglected. The river is not broad; but, as all the water from the upper lakes is carried off by this stream, the current is strong.

The Hon. Mr. H.—has a beautifully situated seat on the Canada shore, where greendrooping branches dip into the water most charmingly. At Queenstown the bank rises abruptly to a considerable height, and all navigation ceases, as the stream from hence to the Falls is a continued rapid.

Queenstown and Lewistown are vis-a-vis the one on the Canada; the other on the American shore. A monument to General Brock still stands on a height above Queenstown-a melancholy witness of what spite and malice will strive to effect. The attempt to blow it up is attributed to the Americans; but they assert it was made by a disaffected Canadian. Be this as it may, the column is only cracked, not shattered. It has not been repaired. A very indifferent railroad, leads from the heights of Queenstown along the level ground, to the Falls. The ride is pretty. This being frontier country, it has been the scene of many battles and skirmishes, with varying success.

Our first view of the Falls was from the Clifton 0213 205 Hotel, near the bank of the river; though a low, heavy, subdued, but all-pervading sound, had long before told us of our propinquity to them. It was evening: clouds were passing over the moon; we walked down to the ferry, opposite the American Fall: and, returning, strolled along the road at the edge of the beach, catching at each step view after view, each in succession, more entrancing than the last. At length we reached the Great British, or HorseShoe Fall, and stood within two or three yards of the mass of water curling over the ledge. When a transient gleam swept over the rapids, and glanced on the crest of the Falls, what a scene was before us! Every one must admit that language cannot be made to rise to such extreme majesty. Niagara utterly defies all description: it is without a parallel in Nature; the mind can only grasp it through the external senses; it must be seen and heard—not frittered away and toned down through the cold medium of a string of expletives and superlatives. There is, besides, something almost sacred in the thoughts and feelings to which such a scene gives rise: he who feels it most, will say the least. You cannot prattle in the face of such sublimity.

The next morning, having determined upon going behind the Fall, we, for that purpose, 0214 206 entered the little cottage on the bank, undressed completely, and put on an oilskin suit, covering the head, as well as the body. Even this dress will not keep out the wet, owing to the immense force with which it falls, and is blown in clouds of spray against you.

A flight of wooden stairs lead down to the ledge of stone, level with the entrance behind the curtain of water. The footing is good for some little distance; but, at the edge of the Fall, the gusts of wind and spray are sufficiently strong to take away the breath. To face them is quite impossible: the only plan is to stoop down, and back in. The first attempt in our case was not successful. We were obliged to return; but afterwards succeeded in reaching Termination Rock, 230 feet behind the Fall. All difficulty ceases as soon as you are fairly between the rock and the falling water. You can, then, stand upright. Without the rope to hold on by, it would scarcely be possible to enter; and even with its assistance, I can assure the reader, it seems sufficiently frightful. Respiration is rather painfully affected. You are drenched to the skin, made temporarily deaf, and, on your return, are entitled, on payment of a dollar, to a diploma; with a few doggrel verses upon it, certifying that you have succeeded in reaching, Termination Rock.

Descending again to the ferry, we embarked in the little boat, which here crosses the stream for the American shore. This passage is perfectly safe—although at all times the boat is whirled about, rather frightfully by the eddies. A few yards nearer the Great Fall, the boat would be swamped in an instant; and a little lower down, the stream contracts, rushing fearfully and upheaved, through the gorge. The comparatively smooth water found at this spot is one of the most singular phenomena about it, and is accounted for in various ways. The most generally received opinion is this—that the immense weight of water tumbling over the Fall, drives the water down into a hole formed by this constant action; the water then gradually rises at an angle from this, to the surface, and, meeting with a check from the narrowing banks of the stream, sends back a comparatively smooth body of water towards the Great Fall. Even here, a foot or two below the surface, there is a downward current of frightful velocity: it is simply at the surface that the water is smooth. You land at a ridge of rocks at the foot of the American Fall, and walk through clouds of spray, up a wooden staircase, to the level ground above. Two or three hundred yards from the brink stands the manufacturing village of Manchester—pretty, and, at 0216 208 the same time, practical; for the Americans have not merely recognised the beauty and wonders of the spot, but have also considered that it would be a pity to allow so good a water privilege to be neglected. Perhaps they are right. A poet and a dreamer may long to wander around this stupendous work of nature in solitary and undisturbed musing. The sound of the wheel, jars on his excited senses; the plain, utilitarian factory, is an unsightly scar; but, were the world peopled alone with poets and dreamers, we should be, in the nineteenth century, as we were in the ninth.

To describe the form of the Falls is, at the present moment, almost needless. Let the reader, however, stand with me, on the green turf, a little below the Falls, on the American shore; on the left, the straight American Fall rushes tumultuously over the ledge, 200 yards in width, and 150 feet high; divided from this, by a few yards of rock, is the second silvery stream of water, scarcely seen or heeded by the side of its monstrous neighbours; beyond is “Goat Island,” thickly covered with timber and shrubs, intersected, in every direction, by winding paths; passing this, and stretching over in horseshoe shape, to the Canada side, is the British Fall. This Fall is 600 yards wide. At the edge of this Fall the water passes through and 0217 209 over a rocky bed, and is deficient in volume; but towards the centre of the Shoe, it rolls its dark-green stream, slowly and massively over the ridge, in grandeur indescribable. Here, the waters meet in direful strife: the eye cannot penetrate the depth. All is chaos—dread, mysterious, awful—and yet how beautiful. The sunbeams shine over its surface; the iris plays with the glittering spray, strong in its impalpability; but, were twenty line of battle-ships, in all their solid grandeur, to roll at once over the brink, they would be crushed into dust and powder in one second, by the contending power around them.

No spectacle can be more sublime than the Great Fall, with the rapids above it. The latter, come sweeping down in a curved line of glittering foam, a mile in width. For about three miles above the Fall, no boat can live; nothing can cross the stream—destruction would be inevitable.

When it is considered, that the whole water of the huge American Lakes (except Ontario), and fully one-half of the whole North American Continent, pours over this spot, it needs no effort of imagination, to picture what it must be; its grandeur and sublimity are utterly beyond description; live, in the neighbourhood, for weeks and months, and day by day it grows O 0218 210 upon you; its power and its majesty, enter slowly into the mind, but, when once grasped, can never be forgotten.

The country, immediately about the Falls, is pretty. Near them, on the Canada side, a large city, to be called the “City of the Falls,” was laid out on paper, but it never got beyond that. Cattle graze, quietly in its streets; corn waves in its squares. The village of Drummondville advanced rapidly while large bodies of troops were quartered there. Rural little cottages sprung up everywhere: now, they are fast dropping into a state of decay. The soil is light and sandy; the climate mild, for Canada. The insecurity of property, in case of war with the United States in this frontier district, is said to have prevented its progress. But the Americans, on the other side, who are equally exposed, show no such timidity: there, all is advancing rapidly. The contrast, indeed, between the sluggish inaction and langour of the Canadians, everywhere, and the stirring industry of their neighbours, often less favoured in soil and climate, is sad. To account for it is not easy: it cannot be, that taxes weigh the Canadians down; for they pay none, or next to none; neither can Govenment be responsible for it; for entire freedom prevails. Good roads and canals have been made, and large sums are yearly expended in 0219 211 the colony by the large body of troops quartered there. No problem was ever more difficult of solution, to me. After a long residence, I was as far from understanding it as ever. One cause, undoubtedly, is—this a good deal of land is in the hands of people, who have insufficient capital to work it properly, by the labour of others, and are too proud to labour on it themselves; while in some places the large blocks of land, called “Clergy Reserves,” have hitherto prevented the development of the colony; still, these causes are partial, and quite insufficient to account for the general depression. This fine upper province exports nothing but a little lumber, and a few thousand barrels of flour, and its harbours are nearly empty; while those on the American side of the lakes, are crowded with sailing craft, and steamers.

Four miles below the Fall, is a circular basin, hollowed out by the stream, called the “Whirlpool.” The walk to it along the margin of the gorge, through which the river runs, is lovely. Evergreen shrubs, cedars, and pines, overhang the banks, and open, oak-covered plains, spread around you. The glittering humming-bird, the gay butterfly, and myriads of noisy insects, make this warm, sunshiny, genial country, their home—mingling their incessant, twittering, chirruping noise with the loud rush of the heaving, O 2 0220 212 tumbling waters below. Sit down on the edge of the pool, and watch the waters eddying round. Every floating thing which finds its way into the whirlpool remains there for many days. Human bodies have been watched turning slowly round in gradually increasing circles for many days—until at last they have disappeared. Large quantities of drift wood are always floating in it: indeed, almost everything carried down by the falls and rapids finds its way hither. The water runs out nearly at right angles to the spot at which it enters. Its depth is supposed to be great; but no lead-line would sink in it. Awe, and a sickening sense of the grave, steals upon the mind while contemplating it. How many crushed and mangled bodies—how much treasure are concealed in its dreary depth. Many a deserter, in a suicidal attempt to swim across the stream above, has been brought down here. At one time no less than seven corpses of these deluded men were seen at once, twirling round and round in this spot. About half-way between the Falls and the whirlpool, is the light suspension bridge, lately erected; and above the Falls, on the road to Chippewa, are some hot springs. The land in this district is chiefly unenclosed meadows: orchards, well stocked with fruit trees, also abound; and the useful, cheap, but ugly snake 0221 213 fences, give place to more substantial posts and rails. The traveller will be reminded of the light soil and commons of Tonbridge Wells.

We crossed the stream again to Manchester, on our way to Buffalo. Curiosity shops, and places where “Memorandums” of the Falls are sold (as a man persisted in calling them,) as well as shops for the sale of aboriginal industry, in the shape of Moccasins, pouches and reticules of untanned leather, resplendent with beads, abound here. The mode of conveyance to Buffalo was by railroad, distance about twentyone miles. The line, is merely a slip of iron nailed along a stout wooden rail, and was in many places broken and uneven. It would be perfectly unable to bear the weight and friction of an English locomotive, but answers tolerably well, where neither the speed nor weight of the engines or carriages is great; at any rate it is an improvement on the heavy “stage,” plunging at every yard into a mud hole. A slightly open fence alone separated it for a considerable distance from the high road: there was nothing else.

The railways in this country are often carried through the main streets of the towns and cities, regardless of passengers, or frightened horses: with no fence whatever to prevent other vehicles from crossing the line. This carelessness 0222 214 of human life is quite common thoughout the whole country. Time, labour and cost are here more regarded than possible loss of life. The country through which we passed is flat and uninteresting. Buffalo itself, is a red staring new looking town, with an excellent commercial position at the lower end of Lake Erie. The harbour is always full of high pressure puffing steam boats. Nearly all the trade of the Upper Western district passes through this place, and is sent on by the Erie canal and the railroad to Albany or Troy, and thence to New York. It is remarkable solely for its very rapid rise into importance, twenty years having sufficed to raise an insignificant village into a town of 30,000 inhabitants. An ignorance of American manners, here led us to suppose that a person at the table was impertinent. Arriving late, we dined by ourselves at the same table, and at the same time, with those who were taking their usual six o'clock tea. Fifty people were perhaps at the table, and one of them sent his plate for some beef steak. Captain R—was indignant at this, as our dinner was undoubtedly private, but the plate was supplied, and nothing said; the second time, however, that the same person sent it, an intimation was given that ours was a private party, whereupon the American immediately apologized, and 0223 215 nothing more passed. At hotels, in the western country, everything served at the public table is considered to be there for all who require it.

A steamboat took me to Port Rowan, where I intended to remain a few days. This boat being high pressure, panted and puffed through the water, making sufficient noise to prevent all sleep. One peculiarity of these boats, where the fuel for the fire is wood, is the great quantity of sparks and flakes of fire constantly thrown over the boat in all directions. The fiery shower gleaming in the air at night, and reflected by the water, is a pretty sight, but destructive to ones clothes, unless care be taken to knock off the sparks as they fall. The shore of the lake is very low, and the water throughout shallow, when compared with the great lakes above it, or Lake Ontario below. The depth of water varies, however—not only, during successive years, but at different periods of the same year. It decreases gradually during the winter and early spring months, and increases on the melting of the snow and ice during the hot summer. The decrease of the water is clearly shown by the subsidence of the ice on the lake shores. I noticed this particularly on the bay of Quinté, which is every winter frozen over completely, for several months. The fall there was at least three or four feet. This is 0224 216 partly the cause of the huge rents in the ice, which are so dangerous to those who drive over the frozen surface of the lake, both at night and in a snow storm. Horses are constantly engulphed in these fissures; and occasionally, though not frequently, the occupants of the sledge, share the same fate. The ice, even in the most severe Canadian winter, never extends over the whole surface of the large lakes. Eight or ten miles from the shore is usually the extreme limit; but all the lesser bays and inlets are completely frozen over, and traversed in every direction by sledges and ice-boats. The sense of insecurity, in sitting behind a pair of horses trotting at the rate of ten or twelve miles an hour, over an apparently insecure support, is rather painful at first, but soon vanishes. At Port Rowan a long spit of low land, full of swampy marshes, stretches far out in the Lake. Between this and the main land, there is a channel of sufficient depth to admit a vessel of light draft of water to pass, but it is daily filling up and will soon be quite impassable. Port Rowan is a wretched little collection of half ruinous log houses, woe-begone to a degree. The people at the post office, whither I went to inquire for my friend, directed me to walk about three miles into the “Concessions,” to a farm-house, where he was then residing. Here I found him, 0225 217 just returned, laden with wild fowl from the marshes, which abound in this district. Intermittent fever and “shaking” ague is here extremely general; few escape an attack in the second or third year of residence. Although not dangerous, this is a dreadful complaint; and clings to the enfeebled constitution with horrible tenacity. Year after year often passes before it is finally expelled by “Quinine.” “Down with the shakes” is the form of expression used to denote the bad days of the disease. Ague more or less prevails throughout Canada, but in many parts it is very unfrequent. Where the land lies low, and marshy spots abound, there is its home. To the hard-working farm labourer its lengthened attacks are a great trial; for it entirely prostrates all strength, both of mind and body. Miserable, indeed, is the pale, enfeebled attenuated sufferer, when the “Shakes” are upon him. Let the settler weigh well before choosing his location, whether or not, the nature of the country is such as to induce this disease. Should it be so, let him on no account be swayed by assurances from local residents, that the complaint is unknown. The reason of this is obvious, as the value of land and other property is considerably affected by the presence or absence of this disease.

The day after my arrival we went into the 0226 218 woods to look for deer, but the mosquitoes were so incessantly troublesome, that our chance of sport was entirely destroyed. To keep quiet, even for a moment, was impossible. The fiery sun had parched the ground, and the dead twigs, leaves, and shrivelled grass, crackled under the feet. Although, therefore, we saw several deer, we were unable to approach near enough for a shot. Great numbers of deer had been killed by the excessive severity of the previous winter; for their small feet and thin legs break through the slight crisp frozen surface of the snow, and sink deep below it. Under these circumstances they soon knock up; are, without difficulty, tracked on foot, and become an easy prey to the persevering hunter, both white and aboriginal. Large “pine barrens” covered with trees, whose straight naked trunks rose to a height utterly unknown in England, abound in this district; and as these trees do not admit of any undergrowth, the eye rests on all sides, on bare straight spars with tufted crowns: casting a sombre and deep gloom below. My spirits were always much depressed by a few hours passed in a Canadian pine forest. There is no variety, no joyousness, in this phase of nature; all is solemn, sad-looking, and still.

In other places the timber consisted of maple, black walnut, butter-nut, and oak. Wooden 0227 219 troughs, placed under the pierced maple trees, show that the lucrative trade of sugar making is in proper season much attended to. The trees were not yielding sap, as the summer was too much advanced.

The first sap usually flows when the frost breaks up, and increases in strength and thickness as it flows, being for the first few days colourless, and almost without taste, and degenerating at last into a thick inferior stuff, hardly eatable. The importance of this trade to the Canadas, may be estimated from the following figures. In 1848 as much as 4,000,000 pounds of this sugar were made in Canada West; and in Lower Canada the quantity was 2,250,000 pounds. The sugar makers often live entirely during the proper season in the forests abounding with maple trees; where they erect a shanty, and carrywith them a proper supply of food, and the few pots and pans necessary for their trade. The mode of tapping the trees is simple. A hole is bored through the bark of the tree; into which a spout or funnel is placed, through which the sap flows; generally very slowly, but sometimes in a stream. Six gallons of the sap are usually required to make one pound of sugar. The flavour of the sugar is coarse, but very sweet.

A good deal of ground was also planted with 0228 220 Indian corn, which thrives well here; whereas, on the shores of Lake Ontario, it scarcely ever ripens.

The two or three succeeding days, were devoted to shooting in the marshes; but I shall describe this sport, hereafter.

On Sunday, all the neighbourhood either rode or drove to “meeting.” The men were generally clothed in home-spun Canadian cloth, similar to the grey frieze of Ireland. The ladies, affected more fashion, but would have been thought sad caricatures, in the “Champs Elysées,” or the “Boulevard des Italiens.” The vehicles, were of various descriptions; but the Canadian waggon seemed to me more in keeping, with the dress and appearance of the people, than the more ambitious phoæton or gig. It does not appear to be the fashion, to clean these latter vehicles; for they are brought out, covered with the dust and mud, of repeated journeys.

All the ladies whose acquaintance I had the honour of making, were more than a little “devôte.” The morning sermon was highly spiced, ultra Calvinistic; and, as it condemned to eternal misery, all, who did not agree with the preacher and his flock, it was keenly relished. A very slight knowledge of the prevailing tone of thought on religious matters in this colony, is sufficient to convince a traveller, that clergymen 0229 221 of sound mind and liberal education, are sadly wanted, to correct the insane fanaticism and extravagance of the self-sufficient, but almost necessarily ignorant, dwellers in these backwoods. Yet, strange to say, where such men are found in this country, it is rare that they possess much influence over those who live around them. Their churches are deserted; while the chapel, or camp meeting, attract crowded audiences. Religion is the exciting amusement of these remote districts; and supplies the place of the ball, the concert, or the theatre. The Liturgy of the Church of England is too tame: its language too pure. The extemporaneous effusions of an eye-rolling, armextending ranter, gradually lashing both himself and his congregation by loud denunciations, and fearful pictures of torture and damnation, into a perfect frenzy, is the popular preacher of the backwoods.

A good deal of property in this district is in the hands of settlers from the United States; and a sturdy independence of mind, not much leavened with loyalty, prevails. I do not think they could be trusted, to fight VERY HARD for the blessing of being governed by a Queen and Legislature, 5,000 miles away. My impression of the people and the country in this part of the Province, was far from favourable.

From Port Rowan a waggon conveyed me to Simcoe. The dust was horrible, the sun scorching; and the vehicle had no springs, either iron, or wood. Fortunately, the road traversed fine oak plains, and was, therefore, good. The light, sandy soil of these plains, produces good crops; and the woods were full of wild flowers—many very beautiful. The country about Victoria, six miles from Simcoe, is well settled. Simcoe itself, may be passed, without a word.

The next day, I travelled by the mail to Brandtford, (twenty-five miles.) The same pair of horses did the whole journey; and my only fellow-passenger was a lady, who pestered me terribly with long tirades about temperance—varied by invitations to join her in singing praises to the Lord. At length—tired, I suppose, by my uasociability—she solaced herself with a cigar. My astonishment may be imagined.

The town of Brantdford is built on rising ground, overlooking the Grand river, and the plain it waters: the river is a most beautiful one. A settlement of half-civilized Mohawk Indians, with a resident missionary clergyman, are domiciled here; but are not considered industrious, or sober. Nominally, they are Christians; though, from what I could learn, it is more profession, than faith, or knowledge of the subject.

This district, and through Oxford to London, is, perhaps, the best agricultural part of Canada, and is peculiarly well inhabited by settlers from the old country. Where the title to land is unimpeachable, the price is high. From this place to Hamilton, is about twenty-five miles. The road is, for some miles, execrable; but the remainder is macadamized, and an unspeakable luxury. I was much charmed by a little place called Andover. From hence to Hamilton, the road descends a high ridge called “The Mountain,” through woods of thick foliage, affording pretty peeps of the level country below.

At Hamilton the heat was truly terrific; and as I have, during the last few pages, rather frequently alluded to this inconvenience, take this opportunity of stating, that I have rarely (even in a deadcalm, with an almost vertical sun, near the Equator) suffered more from this cause, than I did for a month or two in a Canadian summer. The town of Hamilton improved rapidly at first, and it boasts the residence of Sir Allan Mae Nab, the Canadian loyalist leader, about whom, by-the-bye, this story is told: that seeing in the visiting book at Government House, that a well known Scotch chief of the same name had inscribed himself there as “ The Mc Nab,” Sir Allan wrote his name underneath as “the other Me Nab.”

In the evening I went to the Theatre, and, as I very reasonably anticipated, the Tragedy was so truly comical, that I enjoyed it greatly. It was as good, in its way, as an Adelphi burlesque.

My companions, who had left me at Port Rowan, to continue their journey farther west through the London district, here joined me, and we returned together to Kingston.

BAY OF QUINTÉ.—LIFE IN CANADA.—SOCIETY.—SCENERY.—CLIMATE.

I do not intend here, to describe the life of a hard-working Canadian farmer; for the circumstances under which I passed nearly a year, on the shores of the Bay of Quinté, were, in many respects, peculiar; but I hope, nevertheless, that this chapter will give the reader some general idea of Canadian life. Almost the whole of this district is the property of an Irish nobleman, whose local interests are looked after, by a resident agent. But along the bay shore, there are some few farms, which are the property of different individuals; and have, from the cause alluded to above, fallen into the hands of well-bred settlers from the old country—who, emigrating at a mature period of life, brought with them a refinement of manners and tastes, which formed a striking contrast to the rough mode of life of most of their neighbours. Unfortunately, they were scarcely the class of persons to succeed well in a country like P 0234 226 this; and, since I left Canada, I have received rather bad accounts of those amongst whom I passed so many gay and agreeable months. Our life was a continued series of amusements. During the summer, the day was spent in fishing or shooting; and the sleighing club and billiards (we had a private table), with a rubber of whist in the evening, killed most pleasantly the dreary months of winter, when all nature is torpid; when no bird hovers in the air—no beast is seen in the fields; but all around is a dismal waste, of snow and ice. Farming, as may be imagined, sped ill under such treatment; for nothing but the most constant, undivided attention, will render the Canadian soil productive, or agricultural operations, remunerative. To me—a mere passing stranger, with no pecuniaryinterests involved—this sort of gaiety was, of course, agreeable and harmless; but for those who emigrated to this district, with a view to improving their pecuniary position, or at least husbanding carefully the little property still left to them, it was undoubtedly an act of folly, to endeavour to sustain, in such a country as Canada, the life of pleasure to which most of them had been accustomed at home. Still, only those who have been put to the test, know how difficult a thing it is to abandon at once deeplyrooted habits and feelings: to work instead of play.

Our circle was almost always increased by some of the officers quartered at Kingston, and those of the Government employés, who were either young enough to enjoy, or could find time for, field sports. The lake offered fishing at all seasons. When not frozen over, inexhaustible were the stores of bass, herrings, pike, and salmon; and even when the surface of the bay was fast bound in ice, two feet thick, the eager and weather-defying sportsman might erect his little shelter of reeds, or a blanket, drill a hole through the ice, drop his line into the water, and be sure to have both his sufferings and his perseverance rewarded. Shooting lasts but four months in the year. The game consists of partridges (red-legged), woodcocks, snipe—in some places, turkeys; large flocks of golden plover (a bird by no means to be despised), and, perhaps, the best wild-fowl shooting in the world; for which latter sport, no district of North America is superior to this part of the shores of Lake Ontario. The whole of the large Peninsula, called Prince Edward's District, which here juts out into the lake, abounds in marshy rice beds and small lakes, plentifully supplied with wild fowl.

Bear in mind, too, ye shivering pea-coated sportsmen in England, that here this sport is at its prime during the warm, genial months of P 2 0236 228 August and September. Then it is, that you gently glide in a boat down the creeks, permeating the marshes; or paddle your way through the waving rice beds, out of which myriads of birds rise heavily on the wing, at your approach. This sport has, in a lesser degree, the excitement of deer-stalking: it is the sportsman, and not his dog, who finds the game; and so keenly sensible of approaching danger are the birds, that a novice stands little chance of getting within shot.

Every kind of stratagem is practised, and necessary: the boat is not painted, and is usually covered with whatever vegetation is around it; which is either suffered to trail in the water, or is stuck upright in the bow, and round the gunwale; and the costume of the sportsman is also studiously disguised by the same means. All noise must be carefully avoided. The boat is always paddled—never pulled. If the shooter paddle himself, the paddle is attached, by a lanyard, to the button of his shooting-jacket, in order that it may be let go, at once, without loss. The gun lies ready cocked on a thwart, before him. A practised hand may bag thirty or forty couple of wild fowl in a day; and I have known more than this accomplished by men who pursue this sport for profit. Quite early in the morning, and a little before sunset, 0237 229 are the most productive parts of the day. At those times the birds are continually on the wing, flying from one part of the feeding ground to another. A good shot will then cover the ground around him with slain, without once changing his position. The only drawback to this sport is the difficulty of getting a good dog. A water spaniel is invaluable; and none are to be found worth anything in Canada. The only thorough-bred dogs we had, were a couple of red Irish setters; and one of these was wild, and the other almost deaf. Many a time have I waded up to the waist through a slimy lagoon (whose horribly offensive mud bottom had not been stirred probably for centuries) in search of game: which, had I possessed a good dog, would have been unnecessary. The foul nature of these lagoons may be conceived when I state, that no process known to our washerwoman ever succeeded in cleaning the garments entrusted to her care. Ever after, they were unwearable. Our party usually consisted of five or six; and great was the consumption of cold punch (which we carried ready-made in Macintosh bags), and provender of all kinds. Whiskey is the universal beverage, and may be bought for eighteenpence or two shillings the gallon; and, at this price, it is really very good: not so fiery as Irish or Scotch whiskey, but very 0238 230 palateable stuff. Wine is so dear and bad, that very little is drank of it anywhere. The consumption of whiskey during the six months of winter, in the house of a bachelor friend of mine (three men living together), was more than 120 gallons; and this without anything approaching insobriety. The climate in the winter is so cold, that amazing quantities of spirits are drank with impunity; but, at the same time, it must be confessed that a tendency to habits of intemperance is a prevalent vice throughout the province of Canada. Rapid is the descent of the disappointed gentleman emigrant—particularly if unmarried. Whiskey drowns care for the time; but temporary happiness is purchased, at the price of ruined health, and early death.

The next best sport is woodcock shooting, which in some places is exceedingly good; and snipe abound in all parts; the latter birds are scarcely wild enough; instead of the long circular flight of the English bird, they drop almost immediately; and consequently the sport is tame. I do not wish to write a dissertation upon shooting in Canada; but as my pen slips over the paper, recollection upon recollection of happy days, and glorious sport, crowd fast upon the mind, and I really find it difficult to confine myself to a mere general statement of 0239 231 its advantages. Of this I am sure, that no one who follows my advice, and takes a run across the Atlantic for a couple of months of summer, for the purpose of shooting over this part, and many others, of Canada, will regret it. During the winter the only sport is deer hunting, with an occasional “chasse” after a black bear. The first of these sports is very fatiguing, and needs a strong, almost Herculean constitution, and the latter has a little too much danger in it, to please most people.

While I am upon this subject, I must devote a few lines to the capital fishing along the lake shores. Our mode was this; we usually left in a boat about nine in the morning, with all the accompaniments for “trolling.” Two, pulled the boat gently along, while the rest of the party handled the rods. Our bait was a piece of tin or brass (called a “brazen serpent”) about three inches long, shaped like a little fish, with a slight curve, and each fin of the tail bent different ways; this bait, of course, worked on a double swivel and twisted round a few inches under the water, with the “way” of the boat; sometimes a piece of red rag answers the same purpose. Usually we had out about thirty yards of line, or perhaps forty. “Bass,” a fine heavy fish, ranging from two to six pounds weight, and greedy, gluttonous pike, from five to twenty, 0240 232 ere the chief sport. The fly fisher will probably say, how could any one find amusement in anything so tame; let him try it, and I shall be much mistaken if the sneer do not change to a smile of pleasure, as the boat slowly makes its way over the limpid waters, under the shade of sweet-smelling cedars, dipping their pendant boughs in the lake; when the brillant sun is reflected from the waters, and the air is balmy and soft; when each little bay yields up its treasures to the rod, and each headland offers to the eye, an ever-changing and lovely scene. Let me assure him also, that some skill is required to land safely in the boat, by means of a “gaff,” a fish like a pike of twenty pounds weight, which reserves its strength for a final struggle, and plunge, as the line is reeled up, and the fish is near the boat. The “bass,” too, although by nature a sluggish fish, at times shows good play. Salmon fishing takes place during the cold months of the year, and is chiefly followed by those who seek a livelihood from it. The fish is salted, packed in barrels, and sold at about nine dollars the barrel.

At times, in the dusk of evening, a bright light, moving slowly over the water close to the banks, with a dark-looking object, spear in hand, behind it, marks the course of one who is seeking spear the unsuspecting salmon, as its dark body 0241 233 is revealed, by the light, thrown over the water from the blazing tripod stuck in the bow of the boat. This is a pretty sight from afar. Few beginners ever strike the fish; the eye is deceived, and the water turns the spear,—practice is necessary. Occasionally, we made amazing hauls with a “sein” net; throwing away bushel after bushel of fish, as a useless encumbrance; and on one occasion caught a huge fish (very scarce in those lakes) called a “Muskelongi;” its weight was a little under forty-six pounds. The fish was sent as a present to the Governor-General. The quantity of fish to be at any time obtained (except during the depth of the winter) makes no contemptible addition to the rather restricted commissariat of a Canadian farm house. During the winter, no fresh meat is be had. In the early spring “staggering bob,” or the vapid flesh of a calf, two or three days, (or as it always seemed to me two or three hours) old, is the first fresh meat tasted for months. Salted and spiced beef, forms the staple winter food, and certainly a well spiced round, is provender not to be despised. Vegetables are unprocurable during the winter season, except potatoes; and even this hardy vegetable requires great care: but during the summer, cabbages, lettuces, onions, radishes, mustard and cress, will thrive well, if much 0242 234 attention be paid to them: otherwise, they will not. Gardening of any kind is a rather hazardous experiment, owing to unseasonable, and very severe night frosts, and great drought. Melons thrive, as the heat of the sun is great; and flowers blow, with exceeding brilliancy of colour, from the same cause.

The year can scarcely be said to be divided into four seasons in Canada. Winter melts at once into summer, which, in its turn, as rapidly gives place to ice and snow. The climate of this part of Canada has one merit: it is regular and positive in character; not as in England—a series of alternations. The heat of summer is great; indeed, almost tropical; and for three months, or rather more, continuous. The cold of winter is that of Siberia, and as constant as the brilliant sun of summer. There are people who like a Canada climate. I am not one of these. Eighty degrees difference between the temperature in the house, and that of the open air, is far too trying, both to the temper and constitution. The air may be pure, and the sun may shine, for a few hours every day; but it would take more than this to delude me into a belief, that such a climate is agreeable. Yet I scarcely expect to be believed when I state, that our Irish maids used to go out bare-headed and bare-footed, into the ice and snow, to bring 0243 235 in firewood for the stoves, when the thermometer was at seventy, within doors, and fifteen or sixteen below zero, without: so little is the cold felt by some persons. I have seen the ice over the bay of Quinté unbroken, on the 18th of April, much snow on the ground at the same time, and the frost still in the earth. In most countries the quantity of snow on the ground during the winter is considered a guage of summer fertility; and, in the North of England, there is a proverb to this effect (it is there called the earth's blanket). Here, it cherishes an enemy, which, although a small one, does infinite mischief. Immense numbers of field mice (white) burrow under the warm snow, breed in it; and, when the snow thaws, you are horror-struck at finding, that they have barked the young trees by hundreds. Should you have an orchard, it will be half destroyed; and your flower garden will present sad evidence of these little creatures, in the shape of nests in the roots of the plants, which they have also fed on during the whole winter. Every climate has its drawbacks, no doubt: some are too hot, some too cold; none are perfect throughout the year. That of England, much abused as it is, is the best, as far as my experience goes, in the world, for a tolerably healthy person. That of Canada, although very severe in the winter, and hot in 0244 236 the summer, with abrupt transitions between the seasons, is, in most parts of the country, healthy, and conducive to longevity. The summer is generally delightful, and, therefore, it would be out of all rule, were it to last long. But those who have not been long resident suffer much from mosquitoes; which are as venomous, and as perseveringly harassing, as in tropical climates. Some constitutions are affected, to a grievous extent, by their attacks. As an instance, I will mention, that I slept in a tent, for one night only, with a friend, who joined me in a wild-fowl shooting excursion. The tent was pitched on a sandy beach, within a yard or two of the lake, and separated from an extensive tract of marshy ground, by a slight belt of trees. In such a situation, it was hopeless to escape these tormentors: but we did what we could. Tobacco smoke was useless, and the smoke from a wood fire only served to irritate the eyes. We, therefore, covered our faces with handkerchiefs, and slept in gloves. Yet, even then, after taking these precautions, these venomous little wretches bit my companion so severely, that, on his return home, he was confined to his bed for three weeks. Need I say, he was a very fat man. For five months the earth is every year covered with snow; and, during this period, it is necessary to keep all stock within 0245 237 well-protected stock-yards, and to stall-feed them. This is a great drawback upon Canadian farming; and in many cases, where the winter is unusually prolonged, the cattle die in numbers, and those which live through it, become mere spectres: the skin collapses on the gaunt sides and huge prominent bones; while, as they grow thinner and thinner every day, you at last expect to be able to see through these miserable anatomical specimens of three-quarter starved life. Feeding this stock, attending to the horses, chopping wood, and drawing it in sleighs from the back part of the farm, are the chief labours of the winter. There is no other out-door work to do: consequently, when contrasted with the busy, hot, short summer, it is comparatively idle time. Much visiting takes place: sleighs, with their fur-enveloped occupants, glide musically over the snow; the whiskey goes round as well as the waltz; match-making mammas afford plenty of opportunities for their daughters; etiquette goes out, when the frost comes in. Almost every district has its sleighing club; of course, so gay a party as we were, could not be without ours. Twice a week we met at each others houses in succession. At half-past one or two o'clock, a hot luncheon, with whiskey punch, put all, not excepting our fair companions (who, to do them 0246 238 justice, rarely complained of the strength of the beverage), into capital humour for the drive. The party, being arranged and well tucked up in a mass of buffalo robes, and other more costly furs, started, one after another, at slight intervals, intent upon enjoyment. The bells on the horses ring cheerily; the pace, perhaps, twelve miles an hour; the motion, smooth and agreeable, and the country over which you glide offering much to interest in the long, straight lines of trees, beautifully covered with glittering snow, and pendant icicles. After the drive, as evening closed in, a dance or two ended the amusement for that day, and, at a very early hour, all were snugly housed by their own firesides. One great charm of these sleighing parties is this: young ladies willingly trust themselves, and the mammas as willingly confide their daughters (unaccompanied by any one to play propriety), to the charioteering skill of the young bachelor candidates for this honour! The records of every regiment will tell the havock made on these occasions. No “sub” is safe, and there is scarcely a captain, who is not caught; while sour “senior majors” are heard to complain, that the “mess” is sadly broken up, and that men become “dead” to the service, in Canadian winter quarters.

Society costs but little in Canada, for the 0247 239 necessaries of life are cheap, and luxuries are neither looked for, nor to be had. Friends are contented with a kind welcome, and feel all the more at their ease, when conscious that the host (rarely a rich man) will suffer little at their hands. I know few countries where greater hospitality prevails, or where people feel less degraded by being often obliged to perform menial offices for themselves. A lady in Canada, in the strict sense of the term, is none the less so, because she has spent her morning in salting beef, making tallow candles, and other kindred household duties. At home, she would infallibly lose “caste”—that dire bugbear. Here she does not. Servants are a great plague—expensive, whimsical, and idle. On one occasion a servant, who came to be hired by a lady friend of mine, entered the room, and immediately seated herself on the sofa by the lady of the house; scrutinized her thoroughly; asked the nature of the duties she was expected to perform, and her salary; and then said abruptly—“Well, I likes the looks of you, and I guess I'll come.” This was all that passed. How long she stayed I should be. sorry to say: probably three days. I recollect reading somewhere, in a book on life and manners in the Western States, that a servant, believing that her mistress had called to her, but, not being 0248 240 quite sure of the fact, ascertained it by the following question—“I say, mam, did you holler? I thought I heard a yell.” Most of the women servants are Irish; and the men, who hire themselves as farm servants, always expect to be boarded in the house: which is really an almost intolerable nuisance; and if the lady should, unfortunately, from any cause, be without servants, these people will be offended if their dinner is not cooked, and their rooms attended to, by her. Indeed, I am not sure that the continual series of petty annoyances a lady has to endure in this country are not more hard to bear, than the more laborious duties of her husband. Unfortunately, too, no gentleman farmer can make anything by his farm. All he can hope to do, is to save the little money derived from other sources; make his farm supply his table; pay the wages of his servants, and save his house-rent. An emigrant accustomed to daily labour may do more than this; but a gentleman cannot. His case is poor, indeed, unless backed by an income, independent of his farm and its produce. Without this he can have none of the little luxuries and pleasures of life; and it is surprising how small a sum will be sufficient for this purpose. A man with a family of four or five children is quite at his ease with a farm of 150 acres and 500 dollars a year, or £100. 0249 241 This is not a brilliant account: but the truth. To become rich, or even to make money slowly, is impossible. A dollar, is nearly equal to a pound; but then the dollar is more difficult to obtain, than the pound elsewhere. Specie of all kinds is scarce in the country districts, and a system of barter supplies its place with the storekeepers; who give you, at an exorbitant profit to themselves, tea, sugar, and other necessaries, in return for wheat, wool, or any other produce of your farm you may have to sell. Go into a store in Canada, with ready money in your hand, and you can make almost any bargain you like. Barter, or exchange commodities, and you are sure to be imposed upon—more or less.

Before I leave the bay of Quinté, I must add a few words about the farm-houses, and the general scenery, of the colony of Upper Canada. A good farm-house is rare. They are generally constructed of wood, either in the shape of the primitive log-hut, or the more ambitious frame-house; which, although more finished looking and expensive, is, by no means, so warm or comfortable, in many respects, as the simple log-hut. Stone houses are occasionally put up on farms; but I have never seen one of brick. In most cases, the barn, is a much larger building, than the house. Everything connected Q 0250 242 with the house, buildings, and farming, in the country districts of Canada, is dirty, slovenly, and patchy. Neither time nor money is ever spent on mere decorations. A dollar must produce a dollar, or it is never parted with. You may travel for miles, without seeing a flower garden: and even kitchen gardens are comparatively rare. I am not now, of course, speaking of the wealthy gentleman farmer or his property; but of the working farmer, who has nothing to depend on but his land and his labour. It always struck me, that few, if any, Canadian agriculturists, have any attachment to the soil they cultivate. In other countries, men like a thing, because it is their own, and for the improvements they have made upon it. Here, it is not so: every man will sell, if he can. Indeed, he has, in most cases, improved his property, for that purpose alone.

Canadian scenery is, on the whole, unattractive. There are some pretty districts near the lakes, and on the banks of the St. Lawrence; but, generally speaking, the interior is formal and ugly. The mode of laying out farms has much contributed to this. The land has been cut up into parallelograms of the same length, but varying in width, according to the size of the farm, whether 100, 150, 200 acres, or more. This mode has been adopted, in order that each 0251 243 farm, may have some frontage to a good road. The distance between the roads, is the length of two farms Anybody, therefore, may conceive, how this way of laying out a country, must destroy all hope of beauty.

Wherever Nature has compelled a departure from this utilitarian fashion, of dividing her features into sections or blocks, there, you may look for beauty. This is the case around the bay of Quinté, and in some other parts of the country. The distance between the roads, is generally three miles: therefore, each farm is a mile and a half long, and, consequently, very narrow in proportion to its length: which, for many purposes of farming, is highly inconvenient. At the back of each lot, a space is left uncleared, to supply firewood for the house, which is almost always built, close to the road. The trees generally stand too close together, to admit of branches growing near the ground. When therefore, the timber is cut down, nothing can be more hideous than the appearance of the clearing—a belt of straight, branchless trees (except a tuft or two at the top), bounding it on all sides; and, from the same cause, it is rare that any attempt at leaving small clumps of trees for the sake of beauty, or variety, is made. The axe is wielded by reckless, and rather barbarian, hands: it clears by the acre, and is seldom arrested Q 2 0252 244 in its stroke. The stumps, too, remain, for many years, in the ground. A pine stump will take forty or fifty years, to decay. A Canadian farm, therefore, is not generally a very attractive spot, to an eye, fresh from the green fields and glades of the Old World. Time will probably modify, in a great measure, the crude harshness of external nature; while increase of population, and the development of the resources of the province, by the railways now being made, will operate quite as beneficially in softening the character, and polishing the manners, of the rather primitive inhabitants of Canada West.

FROM KINGSTON TO MONTREAL.—LAKE OF THE THOUSAND ISLANDS.—SCENERY OF THE ST. LAWRENCE.—RAPIDS.—MONTREAL.—SOCIETY AND MANNERS IN THAT CITY.—POLITICS—CLIMATE.—LA PRAIRIE TO ST. JOHN'S.—LAKE CHAMPLAIN.—SARATOGA SPRINGS.—HOTELS IN THE STATES.—CONCENTRATION OF TRAVEL.—NEW YORK.—ITS PROSPERITY, AND THAT OF THE UNION.

I left Kingston, for Montreal, by a small steamer. For the first fifty or sixty miles, the river slowly glides between hundreds of islands, varying in size from a few miles, to the mere rock of a few feet in diameter: all, are beautifully wooded with cedar or pine; and the stream, flows tranquilly past them, without noise, or even a ripple. No one can fail to be much struck, with the beauty and singularity, of this part of the scenery of the St. Lawrence. An unpoetical traveller may not possibly be quite prepared to agree with “Moore,” that here

—“The first sinful pair For consolation might have, weeping, trod, When banished from the garden of their God.”

But insensibility to the many charms, of this 0254 246 maze of water and land, is impossible. The stream, opposite Prescott or Ogdensburgh, contracts considerably, and flows more rapidly, between higher banks, until it opens out again, into one of those large expansions of water, for which this, and other, of the gigantic streams of North America, are so remarkable. Between Lake St. Francis, and the junction of the Ottawa River with the St. Lawrence, there are several considerable rapids; but, though the boat descends them with amazing speed, they offer no danger whatever, to a steamer. The only rapid, between Kingston and Montreal, which is really dangerous, is the “La Chine.” A few miles above this rapid, we stopped to take on board an Indian, from a native village, on the right bank of the stream. He was our pilot; and I never shall forget the expression of the man's eyes, as he grasped the helm of the steamer, while she was shooting through the twisting, zig-zag channels, between the rocks; nor the dignity, with which (having proved himself equal to the task assigned him) he abruptly resigned the tiller, and appeared to scorn any further connection with the vessel, or her management.

I may as well observe, that no vessels ever venture to descend these rapids except passengers' steamers. Those which are merely engaged in 0255 247 trade, avail themselves of the numerous canals which have been constructed; in order that the rapids may be avoided. To ascend the rapids, is impossible. All vessels must, then, make use of the canals.

After passing “La Chine,” the river bends abruptly to the left; and the city of Montreal, with its fine quays—large, square-rigged, sea-going ships, and the rising ground of Mont Royal, behind the white houses, and glittering zinc roofs and spires—strikes the eye of one, who, for twelve months, has seen nothing but the comparative stagnation and poverty of Upper Canada, as something peculiarly magnificent. It transports him to the Old World. There is a solidity and sober gravity about Montreal, which form a striking contrast to the fragile, but showy, appearance of the villages, towns, and cities further West.

The city lines the curved bank of the river, for about two miles, and possesses a population of sixty or sixty-five thousand people. By far the majority, are Roman Catholics: and the Cathedral, is decidedly the largest and most ecclesiastical looking building in Canada; or, indeed, in any part of North America. Its architecture is Gothic, and it possesses six very lofty towers: one of which I should advise a traveller to ascend, as the view is both extensive, and beautiful.

Paul-street is the chief commercial thoroughfare, and Nôtre Dame-street the most fashionable. Montreal is at the head of the navigation of the St. Lawrence for sea-going ships; and the harbour remains free from ice, from the end of May until November.

The society is most excellent, and the hospitality and kindness of the resident French Canadians unbounded. All who have visited the city, will bear willing testimony to this, and to the mild, lady-like, winning manners of its fair inhabitants. The change, from the abrupt rusticity, of the greater part of the Upper Province, strikes a traveller forcibly. He passes, at a bound, as it were, into an entirely new social atmosphere, which recalls to his mind the never to-be-forgotten charms of a French drawing-room. The French Canadian, has retained the suavity, and, in a great measure, the ideas, both social and political, of the ancestors from whom he sprung; and who quitted their native land, about the time of Louis Quatorze.

Republicanism has made but little way among this people; and they remain as attached as ever to their religion, and the old feudal system imported from France. The French Canadian differs, in short, widely, from the Gaul of the present day, in the land of his fathers.

Unfortunately, since the junction of the two 0257 249 provinces into one colony, and the removal of the seat of Government to Montreal, two antagonistic races, with really nothing in common, have been brought into close and immediate contact; and the result has been, that almost all questions—social, political, and religious—have been discussed in a very rancorous spirit. Debates of a rather warm nature, in the Legislative Council, and House of Representatives, have acquired additional virulence when transplanted to the meetings of the lower order of habitans: who are certainly ignorant, and bigoted, and, consequently, easily led astray, by their Priests, or any political adventurer, who thinks it worth while, to play upon their simplicity. Most people know the result: good government has become almost impossible; riot has succeeded riot; and blood has flowed freely (even within the last few months) in the streets of a city, once, one of the gayest, and most peaceable, in the world. I have always been of opinion, that the Provinces should have been allowed to remain, politically, disconnected; and recent events have fully confirmed me in that opinion—though reams of Despatches and Reports have been circulated to the contrary. You cannot make the ultra French Lower Canadian, fraternize with the ultra Saxon inhabitant of the Upper Province; and I cannot help 0258 250 thinking that it was a sad mistake to endeavour to do so: though, doubtless, it was anticipated, that success would follow the attempt, and a gradual amalgamation between the races, be the result.

In every colony visited by me—and they are not a few—I have always thought that the position of the Governor, was peculiarly trying. It is almost impossible for him either to give satisfaction, or even, to govern well. In almost every case, he must be entirely unacquainted either with the people, or their wants, over whom he is appointed to rule. Books will teach him nothing, but abstract principles. Political Economy, as a science, may be learned from them; but experience alone, can make him a successful ruler. This inexperience, on his part, it is sought to correct, by a functionary, who is supposed to be the “nurse,” of each succeeding Governor. This person, however, has, in most cases, been long enough confined to a comparatively small sphere, to have become more or less involved in the personal quarrels which generally rage fiercely around him. From the first, therefore, the unfortunate Governor's mind is jaundiced.

Everything is presented to him through a more or less distorted medium. Had he visited the seat of his Government, as a private and 0259 251 unknown person, he might have formed a cool, dispassionate opinion, for himself; but hemmed in by the circumstances of his position, this is impossible. What, therefore, can he do? If he delay, or hesitate for any time, his term of office expires; while, if he makes up his mind to act, he must do so, either at hap-hazard, or throw himself upon some person, on whom he imagines he can best rely: and at once brings down on his devoted head the hatred and malice of all the personal enemies of the individual selected. Be chary, therefore, of censure on the conduct of an individual so placed; and, at least, as the criminal lawyers say, “give the prisoner the benefit of the doubt.” It is notorious, that the state of political feeling has been, for many years past, so bad in Canada, that I have been unable to refrain from these remarks.

The Roman Catholic Priests possess great power in Lower Canada. Indeed, wherever the standard of education is low, among a people, the clergy are invariably powerful, in proportion to the ignorance around them. When people think for themselves, they are very apt to throw themselves more upon their God, and less upon the ministers, of his Church.

The old law of tithe (though not our English tithe, but the comparatively merciful twenty 0260 252 sixth part of the produce of the old French law), still subsists here; though, so far modified, that it is only from the members of his own flock, that the Priest can claim it. A Protestant farmer, is exempt. The poor habitan , also, has another master, and tax-gatherer, in the person of the “seigneur,” who still exercises, under the cold sky of Canada, the same privileges and right over his vassal, as did his father in Lauguedoc, or Provence. These facts are pretty generally known in this travelling and reading age; but their results, nevertheless, strike forcibly when on the spot: for all that one hears and sees, at Montreal, is in marked contrast to the language, habits, manners, religion, and laws, of the States and people, who form their immediate neighbours.

The climate is very severe, and subject to rapid alternations. The cold of winter, is intense, and the heat of the short summer, equally extreme. The surrounding country looks bleak and cold, and the large vegetation, speaks of a bitter northern clime. I believe, however, that the land produces good crops of wheat.

The great change which takes place in climate, in a comparatively small distance, either north or south, east or west, is one of the peculiarities of North America. I observed it, between 0261 253 Montreal and the southern extremity of Lake Champlain; and, also, between the eastern and western ends of Lake Ontario. It is, I believe, admitted, that a degree of westing, is, in the north part of this Continent, equivalent to a degree of southing, in its effect on climate: besides which, the greater or less exposure of different districts to the cold winds, which sweep down from the gulf of St. Lawrence, produces an important modification in temperature. For instance, there is little more than a degree of latitude, between Boston and New York: yet, because the harbour of the former city is exposed to these winds, and that of New York is sheltered from them, the harbour of Boston is closed by ice, for a considerable period, during the winter; whereas, that of New York, is open all the year round, from the sea; though both the North and the East Rivers are occasionally rendered unnavigable, from masses of floating ice. There is, in fact, nothing more difficult, than to form an accurate idea of climate from the mere latitude of the place, or district under investigation. The temperature, and the nature of the air, will be modified by so many extraneous causes, that an approximation is all that can be hoped for: and in America, even this, is impossible. Nothing but a practical knowledge of the country will 0262 254 enable any one to form a correct opinion upon the subject.

I crossed the St. Lawrence, for about seven miles, to La Prairie; and from thence took the railroad to St. John's. The country between the St. Lawrence, and the head of Lake Champlain, is level and uninteresting; and I embarked for Whitehall, in one of the cleanest, and best managed steamers possible. The boat, was the property of the gentleman who commanded her, and whose courteous and kind manner, has made him deservedly popular with all who have travelled by his vessel. His excessive attention to the cleanliness of his steamer, and the comfort of his passengers, may be illustrated by this. No cigar end, or trace of tobacco in any shape, was ever allowed, by him, to tarnish, for a moment, the purity of his deck. As soon as it appeared, the avenging swab, was certain to remove it. In a country like America, where everybody either smokes, or uses tobacco, in a more unpleasant manner, I confess I was both surprised and gratified, to see so unusual an exemplification of regard, for the feeling of those, who look upon both practices, with anything but favour. The passengers were numerous; and among them was a person, who gained a living by travelling continually in the steamers and railroads of his country, with a box of boots, 0263 255 shaving soap, books, or, perhaps, an infallible cake, for removing, at once, all stains of grease, from cloth; or something else, which was in pretty general demand; and neither cumbrous nor costly. This system of peddling is, indeed, very common in the United States; and as but little expense is incurred (for the fares, by public conveyances, are cheap), it is found highly remunerative. It so happened, that the conversation on board, had been rather more general and discursive than usual; and, in the course of it, some remarks were illustrated by me, by references to places, and countries, lying rather remote from one another. I observed this man, looking for some time, rather intently; and evidently taking an unusual interest in what was going on. At length, he made up his mind to solve the enigma, which was, at the moment, occupying his mind. This he did, by rather abruptly asking me—“Pray, sir, do you peddle?” Had I answered, “yes,” he would then have been satisfied; for few Americans, of the lower class, have any idea that a man may be induced, for any cause (except for the purposes of trade), to spend, both time and money, in wandering about the world.

We touched at several places—Plattsburg, Burlington, Ticonderoga, and Crown Point. The upper part of the lake contains some large 0264 256 islands, and was formerly the scene of several naval combats, between the small vessels of war, which then floated on its waters. Now, I believe, there is not even a gun-boat maintained on it, either by the Americans or the English. Tant mieux . At Crown Point, the lake narrows to the width of a mere stream; and, at Whitehall, the width is so slight, that there is not room for the steamer to turn. A warp is thrown out, and the vessel made fast.

I have before alluded to the charming scenery of Lake George and its surrounding hills: therefore, it is not necessary to say more on that subject—though pages of praise would not be misapplied.

The water communication between Whitehall, and the navigable part of the Hudson River, is kept up by a good canal, which passes through a beautiful, though rather bleak, country. Havin entered the Hudson River, we descended its waters, as far as Troy: whence, I rather suddenly determined upon retracing my steps, by way of Schenéctady, to Saratoga, for the purpose of passing a short time at those much-frequented Springs: having a not unnatural wish to see how so business-occupied a people, as the Americans, could possibly pass their time agreeably in a sort of Neapolitan dolce for niente .

It was rather early in the season: yet the 0265 257 Hotels were completely full; and I was compelled o procure a bed, in a private house. The Hotels are on the gigantic scale, so customary in the States, and are very numerous. There must, therefore, have been an immense concourse of visitors to fill them so completely,—probably two or three thousand—or possibly more. The greater part of these, were from the Southern States—attracted hither, by the medicinal virtues of the Springs, and also to escape the scorching summer heats of their own home. If I may judge, however, from the excessive heat which prevailed, during the time I was at Saratoga, they would, this year, not benefit much, from the change of climate, for it was most oppressive. The sandy plain of Wiesbaden is not, in the month of July or August, very cool; but the heat there, is nothing, to that which I experienced, at Saratoga.

Most of the large hotels, have well laid-out gardens attached to them; and the panting visitors to this torrid place, may also enjoy, the inviting shade of rows of well-grown trees, with which the main street of the town is adorned. In the evenings, I was much struck by the freedom with which ladies, without bonnets or shawls—in fact, quite in ball-room costume—strolled, up and down, these shady walks. There appeared to be no restraint-greater freedom, R 0266 258 indeed, than I have seen at any Continental Baths, or watering place. Balls, and evening parties, take place almost nightly at the hotels, and the day is, as usual at such places, spent in visiting the many interesting and beautiful spots, which are within a moderate distance of the Springs. There is also a very fair readingroom and library. The table d'hote , at the Congress Hall, was admirably managed, and several hundred persons sat down daily to discuss its merits. It is of course, impossible that so many people could be congregated, without some few being eccentric and odd; but, in general, there was little to challenge criticism: except a rather lounging, sluggish, effete manner, induced by the southern habits of most of the visitors to these Springs; and an occasional attempt at dandyism, with its usual concomitant, insipidity of manner, on the part of some young man, away from his “store.” Considering that, in this miscellaneous concourse, there must have been many who, in other countries, would have possessed few social advantages, and could ill spare, both the time and money necessary, for a visit of any length to such a place as Saratoga, I must say, that it is to the credit of the nation, that so little was apparent, which could, in any way, offend. I can say, with truth, that I have been much more 0267 259 annoyed by my own countrymen at the baths in Belgium and Germany, during the months of August and September, than I was at Saratoga.

The mineral waters arise from various springs; but the “Congress” spring is the most in request. I thought it refreshing, though nasty. I cannot give an analysis of it; but there is soda, lime, magnesia, carbonate of iron, and carbonic acid gas, in its composition. It has a tonic effect; and large quantities of it, are sent to many parts of the Union. The bathing houses are also numerous.

The excessive heat prostrated me so much, that, in a couple of weeks, I found it necessary to seek a more moderate climate; and for that purpose, as I have before stated, descended the Hudson river, for the purpose of passing a short time at the “Mountain House,” on the Kaatskill range of hills: from whence, I proceeded to New York, and took up my quarters for some weeks at the American Hotel, in Broadway. This hotel, though comparatively small, is as comfortable and wll-managed an establishment as any in this city, where gigantic hotels flourish most abundantly. The far-famed “Astor House,” which, a few years ago, was the largest hotel in the world, except the St. Charles, at New Orleans, is now quite a dwarf by the side of two or three, of its monstrous R 2 0268 260 rivals. The immense size of the hotels in the cities, and the large towns of North America, is the natural consequence of the state of society, and the great difficulty experienced in travelling, except in certarn given directions; for, though the area of the United States is enormous, Nature and man have combined, to throw into a few leading channels, the chief traffic of the country. The enormous rivers and lakes of the interior, have been connected by a few railroads and canals, with the populous and highly commercial cities, which line the sea-coast. Along these, crowds of people are ever on the move; but in the intervening districts—often as large as the whole of Great Britain—travelling is so tedious and harassing, that it is cheaper, more expeditious, and far preferable, in every respect, to make use of a good circuitous route, though it may add, a hundred, or even a thousand miles, to the journey, than to labour painfully along the cross roads, in a direct line, to the destination sought.

This, therefore, concentrates, as it were, the stream of travel, which flows, in a “Mississippi” or “Missouri” flood, through a few districts, and not in little streamlets, throughout this vast continent. To accommodate this moving mass of beings, large hotels, like soldiers' barracks, necessarily spring up. This concentration 0269 261 too, affords an opportunity for thousands of men to travel continually, for the purposes of trade; (not as with us, as agents for others, and in a given district), but on their own account. They are, as far as my observation goes, a class of traders almost peculiar to the United States. Experience, teaches them the price of everything all over the Union; and so that they can make a profit by the transaction, it is perfectly immaterial to them what the article purchased may be, or in what direction they must take it, to sell. These persons swarm at the hotels, and pick up most of their bargains, in the “bar” and smoking rooms, of those establishments, which they favour with their residence. They have no settled, fixed abode; no house of business, or “store” but carry with them either credit or capital, and do business as they go—reversing, in one sense, most completely, the Old World proverb, “Of rolling stones not gathering moss.” Their portmanteaus, or “valises,” studded with as many projecting brass or iron knobs, as the door of a jail, in other countries, are scarcely ever out of sight in the leading thoroughfares.

In the hot summer months, the citizens of New York have many resorts in the vicinity of the city, to which pleasant excursions can be made; but it has always appeared to me that descriptions 0270 262 of such places, on paper, are uninteresting to the general reader, and convey but little positive information. The most frequented, are the Elysian fields, at Hoboken; Rockaway beach, which is the fashionable watering place; Staten Island, and the vicinity of “The Narrows,” on the opposite shore, at Fort Hamilton, Besides these, Astoria, Flatbush, Flushing, Coney Island, and a host of other places, will call up in the mind of one, familiar with the locality, many agreeable associations. In New York, there are so many persons who have been accustomed to the gaiety and lightheartedness of a Continental life, that this city is, undoubtedly, the most agreeable in America, with the exception, perhaps, of St. Louis or New Orleans, during the proper season. At Boston, one acquires a decided dislike to Puritanism, andlearns to consider a “blue” lady, a bore; at Philadelphia, the primness and propriety of the Quakers, and the rectangular construction of their city, are almost painful. Baltimore is a litlle more South, and, therefore, less straightlaced; and Washington is, of course, interesting to a traveller, from its being the seat of Government: though, in itself, a melancholy skeleton. All these cities, except Washington, (which is, as it were, common property), have a decided rivalry; and this is carried so far, that a Bostonian 0271 263 requires some pressing, to induce him to drink Champagne, simply because it is in universal demand, as a beverage, in New York. These little rivalries are, however, harmless; because the moment any really national interest is attacked, the Americans, of every State, rally at once round the Flag of their common country. The inhabitant of one State, will abuse the citizen of another; but let a stranger interfere in their quarrel, and he is certain to share the proverbial fate of a meddler in any dispute between two parties so closely connected, as husband and wife. Those who are only superficially acquainted with the state of feeling in the United States, do not sufficiently estimate this national instinct, when a dissolution of the Union, from any cause, is so confidently predicted by them.

I visited, during my stay in New York, on this occasion, the navy yard at Wallabout Bay, between Brooklyn and Williamsburg. It is extensive, but there were no signs of activity. All seemed to stagnate. This is the case with most of the Government Departments in this country, which strike the eye of an European as very meagre. With us, in England, the dockyards are national concerns: whereas, in America, almost all the States, bordering the Atlantic, have each their navy yard; and the consequence 0272 264 is, that nowhere, either at Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Washington, or Norfolk, in Virginia, will you find an establishment at all commensurate with an Englishman's idea, of what a national dockyard ought to be. The traveller will find no Portsmouth or Devonport on this side of the Atlantic. I have no doubt, however, that, if necessity required it, a very formidable fleet, might soon be acquired by this energetic people; for, unlike the army, the navy, is held in high esteem.

While on this subject, I may as well state, that there is one part of the management of the various public departments, in the United States, which we, in England, might copy with advantage. In none of them will you meet with incivility, supercilious hauteur, or the nonchalant affectation, of being above their business, so common among the staff of public employés, in England. Then, again, you are not kept waiting in an ante-room, until patience is nearly exhausted, before the interview sought, is condescendingly granted. During my stay at Washington, I had occasion to visit several of the public offices in that city; and I can testify, therefore, from personal experience, to the readiness with which each “Chief Secretary” admitted me to his presence, and the utter absence of all official pedantry of manner, or speech. It 0273 265 is, perhaps, scarcely necessary to say, that I had not the least claim to any special attention. I went, simply as one of the public, seeking information.

I do not intend, in this volume, to take the reader through the rather extensive tour made by me in the Southern and Western States; but before I close the present sketch, I cannot refrain from a few remarks on the material prosperity of this country, everywhere apparent. Differences of opinion may exist as to the comparative advantages of this, or other forms of government, and also, upon the social and moral condition of the people, of the United States; but there can be none, as to the prosperity in money matters. Through the whole district in which I travelled, I can most truly say, that, except in the north-eastern part of Virginia, no sign of retrogression was apparent. Everywhere else, rapid progress was evident. It would, indeed, be inexcusable, were it not so; but the Americans have a right to say, that they have largely and energetically availed themselves of those circumstances, which have combined to make them what they, undoubtedly, are. It is needless, in the present day, to recapitulate these. Deep-thinking and practical, were the early settlers on this virgin soil. Self-reliant and self-dependent: men whose ideas, on most 0274 266 subjects, were, (not with standing their prejudices) far in advance of the age in which they lived. Such were the Pilgrim Fathers. The sons of such sires were not likely to degenerate. The experience of ages of civilization guided them in their early career: the Old, did not hamper the New. They started free; and, though the advantages which surrounded them were great, they neglected none. A natural instinct taught them to labour: idleness, was with them, and still is, among their descendants, considered a vice; while, even in the pre. sent day, the compulsory distribution among all the children, of the property of their parents, renders the fruges consumere nati few. All, therefore, must produce, as well as consume. I was much struck everywhere by the large expenditure incurred by all classes of the community. Among the artizans, shopkeepers, and merchants, this is peculiarly the case; and clearly proves that they must gain largely, to be able to spend so freely. In the Southern States, copper, as a circulating medium, is almost, if not entirely, unknown.

Speaking generally, a constitutional irritability of temperament, prevents the Americans from remaining long contented, in any given position. They must strive to be richer than they are: the highest step of their ladder is 0275 267 never gained. He who is most in esteem, is he who has amassed most wealth. There is no disgrace in trade, and consequently no check imposed by society, on its rapid development. Happily, we, in England, are fast acquiring the same sensible feeling; though here and there, in the country districts, the old-fashioned prejudice still lingers, among the landed proprietors; but, when that last stronghold has been carried, it will be a thing of the past, even with us. As, however, there is no good, without some accompanying drawback, this universal pursuit of gain, does undoubtedly bring into undue prominence certain qualities of the mind which might, with advantage, be kept more under restraint. Still, in a country, which, though not new in the race of life, is still more or less in a transition state, where the collective, as well as each individual mind, can at once find scope, activity, (even if it be, rather restless and obtrusive,) is more calculated to develope its resources, than a steady, plodding, matter-of-fact temperament. In America, but little time is spent, on education, or apprenticeship. The boy of fifteen, thinks he ought, and generally does, earn money; and a couple of years, passed in preliminary study, qualifies for any of the learned professions. If, therefore, a young man finds, upon experience, that he has mistaken his career 0276 268 in life, there are few checks to prevent his quitting it for another, for which he either is, or imagines himself to be, more adapted. In England, it may be said that when once a profession is embraced, to adopt another is next to impossible. Years must pass, and much money be spent, before the result desired, can be attained. It is possible that in America, the standard of qualification in each profession, may suffer from this laxity; but I am not aware that, as a class, professional men are found not to be pares negotiis. At any rate, the path of life is rendered much less difficult. Few, therefore, fail, in some career, at present, because there is room, and freedom for all; though, doubtless, when the whole of this vast continent becomes as thickly inhabited as Europe, a higher standard will be required to ensure success, as the personal competition, will be greater.

To me, this universal prosperity, was, I must confess, most gratifying; and I envy not the man who could pass many months among a community so situated, without a keen sensation of pleasure. Faults they possess, no doubt—some of which, are patent enough; and the generality of travellers have not forgotten to point them out; but have apparently taken a malicious pleasure in holding up to the ridicule of their readers, every little eccentricity, solecism 0277 269 and social, or political, failing. The candid, impartial, unprejudiced man, on the contrary, must admit, that, in this country and its inhabitants, there is much, both to praise and admire. He, will say, that a fertile soil has not engendered sloth; immense rivers have not been allowed to flow in vain; abundance, has not made them reckless of opportunity; material resources of unbounded extent have been developed; and the utmost personal freedom, has rarely been allowed to degenerate into license. There may be evil days in store for this country, and its inhabitants. Diverse interests, or a too extensive territory, may sever the Union; the freedom of a Republic, may be supplanted by the iron rule of a Despot. These, and other changes, have often been predicted by those, whose prejudices are shocked, by the spectacle of a great Republic, prosperous and contented, and gradually, but surely, gaining for itself, the respects—if not the admiration—of the world. Happily, the time has not yet come when the truth of these predictions has been verified; and I cannot close this sketch, without expressing a fervent hope, that the biting poverty, and wretchedness—the shocking contrasts—therevolutions and proscriptions, and the curse of irresponsible power—only too common, in some parts of Europe—may long be averted from a 0278 270 nation, in whom every Englishman must recognize, the chief characteristics of his own race.

There are so many different modes of reaching Boston from New York: each offering some peculiar attractions, that the traveller finds some difficulty in selecting by which lie will proceed. All are good, speedy, and cheap. The capital of Massachusetts is, like most large cities on the Atlantic coast of America, almost surrounded by water. It stands on a peninsula about three miles long, and is connected with the main land by a very narrow strip. Bridges connect the citywith some of its various suburbs, and steam ferry boats ply constantly across the water to East Boston. The various railways are (as is usual in America) brought into the very heart of the town: and there are no less than six of these, carried across the Charles River, and South Boston Bay. Boston is a neat city; and, in some parts, looks quite venerable. The inhabitants think it faultless; but a stranger will, perhaps, hesitate a little before giving in his adherence to that opinion. The associations connected with the city and its vicinity invest it with an interest. The Bunker Hill Monument is situated in Charlestown, and is, by no means, elegant: in fact, it is merely a tall, 0279 271 square tower, without grace or beauty, of any kind. Few places differ more than do New York and Boston—not only externally, but in the tone of society. In the former place, it is rather the fashion to affect a dissipated manner and tone: whereas, in Boston, there is still cherished a rather stern, unyielding character; the natural result of the immediate descent from the Non-conformist ancestors, who founded the city. The Anglo-Saxon element is peculiarly strong in Boston: the original English type, is less modified there, than in other parts of the Union. An Englishman, therefore, ought to speak of Boston with respect. It is not a gay city, but solid, substantial, sober, and grave.

I left America, for Liverpool, in the early part of August; and, after a rapid and agreeable passage, made the entrance to the Mersey on the eleventh day. On passing the Welsh mountains, the view was magnificent; but, during the night, a dense fog came on; and, though it was the height of summer, we ran up the Mersey without seeing a single object. It was an inhospitable welcome to one's native land, after an absence of two years. We made the best of our way to an hotel, in Dale-street. The contrast it presented to similar buildings, in America, was not at all gratifying. Every thing was small, dingy, and mean. Then, 0280 272 again, the people in the streets, looked povertystricken and wretched. I cannot help saying, that I saw, in Liverpool, more miserable-looking objects than during the two years, I had spent in America. I am quite aware, of course, that a large seaport, like Liverpool, is not a fair representation of my own country; but I can assure the reader, that the remarks made upon the place and its inhabitants, by my American fellow-passengers, were far from complimentary; and they were all the more painful to me, as I could not help acknowledging their correctness. The place is not calculated to make a favourable impression upon a traveller; and I was very glad to find myself gliding along the North-Western Railway, at the rate of thirty miles, an hour, past the green meadows, the trim hedges, and clean farm-houses of the rural districts. There, I could point out objects, with pride; and listen to the commendation of my fellow-travellers, with pleasure.

Printed by Walter Monckton, 11, King-street, Madistone.