LETTER LIX.
In which Major Downing shakes hands for the President
at Philadelphia, while on the grand tour down East.
To Uncle Joshua Downing, Post Master, up in Downingville, in
the State of Maine. This to be sent by my old friend, the Editor
of the Portland Courier, with care and speed.
Philadelphia, June 10, 1833.
Dear Uncle Joshua, — We are coming on full chisel.
I've been trying, ever since we started, to get a chance
to write a little to you; but when we've been on the
road I couldn't catch my breath hardly long enough to
write my name, we kept flying so fast; and when we
made any stop, there was such a jam round us there
wasn't elbow room enough for a miskeeter to turn round
without knocking his wings off.
I'm most afraid now we shall get to Downingville before
this letter does, so that we shall be likely to catch
you all in the suds before you think of it. But I understand
there is a fast mail goes on that way, and I mean
to send it by that, so I'm in hopes you'll get it time
enough to have the children's faces washed and their
heads combed, and the gals get on their clean gowns.
And if Sargent Joel could have time enough to call out
my old Downingville Company and get their uniform
brushed up a little, and come down the road as fur as
your new barn to meet us, there's nothing that would
please the President better. As for victuals, most any
thing wont come amiss; we are as hungry as bears after
travelling a hundred miles a day. A little fried pork
and eggs, or a pot of baked beans and an Indian pudding
would suit us much better than the soft stuff they
give us here in these great cities.
The President wouldn't miss of seeing you for any
thing in the world, and he will go to Downingville if he
has legs and arms enough left when he goes to Portland
to carry him there. But for fear any thing should happen
that he shouldn't be able to come, you had better
meet us in Portland, say about the 22d, and then you can
go up to Downingville with us, you know.
This travelling with the President is capital fun after
all, if it wasn't so plaguy tiresome. We come into Baltimore
on a Rail Road, and we flew over the ground
like a harrycane. There isn't a horse in this country
that could keep up with us, if he should go upon the
clean clip. When we got to Baltimore, the streets were
filled with folks as thick as the spruce trees down in
your swamp. There we found Black Hawk, a little,
old, dried up Indian king. — And I thought the folks
looked at him and the prophet about as much as they
did at me and the President. I gave the President a
wink that this Indian fellow was taking the shine off of
us a little, so we concluded we wouldn't have him in our
company any more, and shall go on without him.
I cant stop to tell you in this letter how we got along
to Philadelphy, though we had a pretty easy time some
of the way in the steam-boats. And I cant stop to tell
you of half of the fine things I have seen here. They
took us up into a great hall this morning as big as a
meeting-house, and then the folks begun to pour in by
thousands to shake hands with the President; federalists
and all, it made no difference. There was such a stream
of 'em coming in that the hall was full in a few minutes,
and it was so jammed up round the door that they
couldn't get out again if they were to die. So they had
to knock out some of the windows and go out t'other
way.
The President shook hands with all his might an hour
or two, till he got so tired he couldn't hardly stand it. I
took hold and shook for him once in awhile to help him
along, but at last he got so tired he had to lay down on
a soft bench covered with cloth and shake as well as he
could, and when he couldn't shake he'd nod to 'em as
they come along. And at last he got so beat out, he
couldn't only wrinkle his forward and wink. Then I
kind of stood behind him and reached my arm round
under his, and shook for him for about a half an hour as
tight as I could spring. Then we concluded it was best
to adjourn for to-day.
And I've made out to get away up into the garret in
the tavern long enough to write this letter. We shall be
off to-morrow or next day for York, and if I can possibly
get breathing time enough there, I shall write to you
again.
Give my love to all the folks in Downingville, and believe
me your loving neffu,
