University of Virginia Library

LETTER X.

To Mr. Thompson:—Dear Sir—You may be sure I
was tired when I got back to the Exchange after my
visit to Fell's Pint, last night. I couldn't help but
think how I had been tuck in by that bominable little
match seller, and I felt rite mad at myself for bein sich
a fool.

I had a fust rate appetite for my supper, and by the
politeness of Mr. Dorsey—who, tween you and me, is
one of the cleverest fellers I've met with sense I left
Georgia—I got a invitation to take tea in the lady's
supper room. You know when the grand caraven was
in Pineville last year, the manager charged a thrip extra
for admittin people when they was feedin the annimals.
Well, it was worth the money; and if Mr. Dorsey had
charged me double price for eatin at the lady's ordinary
as they call it, I wouldn't grumbled a bit. Ther was a
heap of ladys at the table, rangin from little school galls
up to old grandmothers, all dressed out as fine as a fiddle,
and lookin as pleasin and happy as the Georgia galls do
at a Fourth of July barbycue; and sich a gabblin as
they did keep I never heard before. Jest over opposite
to me was a bridle party from Virginny, what had jest
been gettin married and had come to Baltimore to see
ther honey-moon. It was really a interestin party, and
it almost tuck my appetite from me to look at 'em, they
was so happy and so lovin. They was only married
'bout a week, and of course the world was all moonshine
and hummin-birds and roses to them. They felt like
ther was no other inhabitants in creation, and that all
that was beautiful and bright and good on earth, was

made for their enjoyment alone. They had ther bridesmaid
and groomsman along, and two or three more
young ladys and gentlemen. The galls was all monstrous
handsum, but the bride was the handsumest of
'em all. Pore gall, she looked sort o' pale and couldn't
eat much supper for lookin at her husband, and he
drunk his tea 'thout any sweetenin in it, just cause she
looked in his cup with her butiful soft eyes.

They put me in mind of the time when I was married,
and of Mary, and by the time supper was over I was
as homesick as the mischief. Segars is good for the
blues sometimes, and I smoked til my hed whirled
round so I couldn't hardly hold my hat on, but it didn't
do me not the least bit of good; so I went to my room
and tried to find in the arms of Morfyus a substitute for
the arms of her who is a great deal dearer to me than
any thing else in this world.

I didn't git much time to sleep for dreamin all night,
and when I waked up in the mornin, Hansum sed the
second gong was rung, and if I was gwine to Filladelfy
in the cars I better git up rite off. Well, out I got, and
dressed and went down to breckfust. After eatin a
good breckfust I ax'd for my bill, and Hansum brung
down my baggage. Every time I looked at Hansum he
was grinnin, but as soon as he seed me lookin at him
he straitened up his face and sort o' pretended to scratch
his hed. I couldn't think what was the matter with the
feller: and when I looked at him pretty hard he grinned
as much as to say, it was the strangest thing in the world
to him why I couldn't understand his meanin. Bimeby,
when I was puttin my change in my purse, I spected what
was the matter. “That's it; aint it, Hansum,” ses I,
handin him a quarter. “Yes, sir, thank you, sir,” ses
he, and he grinned more'n ever, and if you ever seed
a ugly nigger he was one.

When I was reddy to start, I went to the door to see
if they had put my trunks on the waggon to take them
to the cars, and rite in the middle of the hall I met a

chap standin with a big painted tin label on his buzzum
what had on it, “Boot Black,” in big yaller letters.
Thar he stood like a sentinel on quarter gard, as stiff as
a post, and as I walked by him he kept turnin round, so
his sign was all the time in view. When I cum back
thar he stood in the same place, with his hands down by
his side, and his hed up, lookin me rite in the face.
Thinks I, he must be a deaf and dum man what blacks
the boots of the establishment, and he want's me to giv
him sum change. Well, I didn't know nothin about
the deaf and dum language, and as I didn't have no slate
and pencil handy, I begun to make signs to him, by
pintin at my boots, and then at him, and then doin my
hands like I was brushin a boot. He nodded his hed.
Then I tuck out my purse and made a motion to him as
much as to say, do you want sum money, and he nodded
his hed agin, twice. Poor feller, thinks I, he can't dun
nobody, and must lose many a debt whar people's always
gwine away in a hurry so. So I handed him a
half a dollar. When it fell in his hand he opened his
eyes and started like he was tuck by surprise. “Thank
ye, sir,” ses he, scrapin his foot and bowin his hed like
a snappin turtle. “Thank ye, sir,” ses he.

You may depend that sot me back like the mischief.

“If you ain't dum,” ses I, “why didn't you speak
before,” ses I.

“I had nothin to spake of,” ses he.

“Couldn't you sed you was the boot-blacker,” ses I.

“I'd tould ye that,” ses he, “but I thought you
could rade;” `and where's the use of keepin a dog and
doin one's own barkin,”' ses he.

Tuck in agin, thinks I. If I hadn't thought he was a
dum man I wouldn't gin him but a sevenpence, nohow.

It was nine o'clock, and I was seated in the cars on
my way to Filladelfy. The road runs rite along in the
edge of the city, near the wharves, and gives a body a
pretty good idee of the heavy bisness part of Baltimore
from the basin clear out to Fell's Pint, in Old Town.

After we got out of the city, they took out the horses
and hitched in the old steam Belzebub, and away we
went, rattle-te-klink, over embankments and through
cuts, across fields and over bridges, until we was soon
out of site of Baltimore. The mornin was dark and
cloudy and the ground was wet; so if we lost any thing
by not havin brighter skies and a better view of the
scenery, we made up for it by not havin no dust to choke
us to deth. This is a butiful railroad, and the cars is
as comfortable as a rockin chair with arms to it. You
haint got to be bumpin and crowdin up together in the
seats like you do on some roads, for every man has a
comfortable seat to himself; and another thing that I
liked very much was, that the sparks aint always dartin
about your face, and lightin down when you aint spectin
nothin and burnin your clothes off of you.

I begin to find it a great deal colder here than it was
in Georgia when I left home. We had summer in
Pineville more'n a month ago, and everybody had gardin
vegetables on their tables, and my corn was more'n knee
high long before I left. Here ther aint hardly a English
pea to be seen, and the cornfield malitia is still on duty
to skeer the birds from pullin up the sprouts. But in
that line of bisness they can beat us all holler, for I've
seed two or three skeererows standin about in the corn-fields
here that wouldn't only skeer all the birds in Georgia
to deth, but they wouldn't leave a nigger on the
plantation in twenty-four hours after they wer put in the
field. They looked more like the old boy in regimentals
than any thing I can think of.

The road passes through a rather thinly popilated
country most of the distance, til it gits to Haver-degrass,
whar it crosses the Susquehanny river. After that
it goes through a country that keeps gettin better and
better til we git to Wilmington, Delaware, which is a
butiful town on the Brandywine river, 'bout thirty miles
from Filladelfy. Between Baltimore and the Susquenanny
we crossed over several rivers, on bridges, some

of 'em more'n a mile long, but ther aint no changin, only
at the Susquehanny, which we crossed in a butiful steamboat
to the cars on the other side. From Wilmington
all the way to Filladelfy, we wer in site of the broad
Delaware on our right, on the banks of which, and as
far as we could see on the left, is one of the handsumest
agricultural districts in the country—the houses lookin
like palaces and the farms like gardens.

When the cars got to the depo, they was surrounded
as usual by a regiment of whips. But the Filladelfy
hackmen behaved themselves pretty well for men in
ther line of bisness. Ther wasn't more'n twenty of
'em at me at one time, and none of 'em didn't 'tempt
to take my baggage from me whether I would let 'em
have it or not. Soon as I got so that I knowed which
eend I was standin on, I took a hack and druv to the
United States Hotel in Chestnut street, rite opposite
the old raw head and bloody bones, the United States
Bank.

After dinner I tuck a walk up Chestnut street to the
old State House, whar the Continental Congress made
the Declaration of Independence. The old bildin stands
whar it did, and the doorsills is thar, upon which the
feet of our revolutionary fathers once rested; but whar
are they now? Of all the brave hearts that throbbed
in them old halls on the 4th of July, 1776, not one
now is warmed by the pulse of life! One by one they
have sunk down into ther graves, leavin a grateful posteray
to the enjoyment of the civil and religious blessins
for which they pledged ther “lives, ther fortins and ther
sacred honors.” I felt like I was walkin on consecrated
ground, and I couldn't help but think that if some of our
members of Congress was to pay a occasional pilgrimage
to this Mecky of our political faith, and dwell but for a
few hours on the example of the worthy men who once
waked the echoes of these halls with ther patriotic
eloquence, they would be apt to go back wiser and
better politicians than they was when they cum, and that

we would have less sound and more sense, less for
Buncum and more for the country in ther speeches in
our Capitol at Washington.

After lookin about the old hall, I went up stairs into
the steeple, whar the bell still hangs what was cast by
order of Congress, to proclaim liberty to the world. It
is cracked and ruined, and like the walls in which it
hangs, the monuments and statues and paintins, and
every other relic of them days, it remains a silent
memento of the past, and as such it should be preserved
as long as the metal of which it is made will stick together.

After takin a good look at it and readin the inscription
on it, I went up higher in the steeple, and tuck a look
at the city. Well, I thought thar was brick and morter
enough under my eyes at one time when I was on the
Washington monument in Baltimore; but, sir, Baltimore,
large as it is, ain't a primin to Filladelfy. I could
see nothin but one eternal mass of houses on every side.
On the east, I could see the Delaware, what divided the
city from the houses on the Jersey side, but on the north
and south, it was impossible to see the eend of 'em.
They stretched out for miles, until you couldn't tell one
from another, and then the confused mass of chimneys,
roofs and steeples, seemed to mingle in the gray obscure
of the smoky horizon. The streets run north and south,
east and west, at right angles, as strait and level as the
rows in a cotton patch. The fact is, I can't compare
the city to any thing else but one everlastin big chess
board, covered with pieces. The churches with steeples,
answerin for castles, the State-house, Exchange and
other public bildins, for kings, the Banks for bishops,
the Theatres and Hotels for knights, and so on down til
you cum to the private houses, which would do to stand
for counters. The only difficulty in the comparison is
that ther ain't no room to move—the game bein completely
blocked or checkmated every whar, except round

the edges, and whar ther is now and then a square left
for a public walk.

I was standin thar ruminatin and wonderin at the great
city that was stretched out at my feet and thinkin to
myself what a heap of happiness and misery, wealth
and poverty, virtue and vice it contained, and how if I
was a Asmodeus what a interestin panorama it would
afford me, when the fust thing I know'd I cum in a ace
of jumpin spang off the steeple into the tree-tops below.
Whang! went something rite close by me, with a noise
louder than a fifty-six pounder, that made the old steeple
totter and creak as if it was gwine all to pieces. I
grabbed hold of the railins and held on to 'em with all
my might, til I tuck seven of them allfired licks, every
one of which I thought would nock my senses out of
me. It jarred my very inards, and made me so deaf I
couldn't hear myself think for a ower afterwards. Come
to find out it was the town clock strikin in the steeple
rite over my head. It was a monstrous lucky thing for
me that it wasn't no later, for I do believe if it had been
ten or leven o'clock it would been the deth of me.

As soon as I got able to travel I cum down out of
that place and went through Independence Square,
what's right in the rear of the State House, to Washington
Square. This is said to be the handsumest public
square in the world—it certainly is the handsumest I
ever seed, and I do blieve that on this occasion ther
wasn't that spot of earth on the whole globe that could
compare with it. I don't mean the square itself, though
that is handsum enuff in all conscience, with its butiful
gravelled walks, its handsum grass-plats, its shady trees,
and ellegant iron fence, that would cost more itself than
all the houses in Pineville—but what I mean is the scene
what I saw in the square.

If there was one I do blieve ther was fifteen hundred
to two thousand children in the square at one time, all
rangin from two to seven and eight years old, and all
dressed in the most butiful style. Thar they was, little

galls and boys, all playin and movin about in every
direction—some jumpin the rope, some rollin hoops,
here a party of little galls dancin the polker, and thar
another playin at battledoor or the graces—some runnin
races and some walkin; some of 'em butiful as little
Coopids, and all as merry and sprightly as crickets. It
was a kind of juvenile swoiree, as they call 'em here,
and I never did see any little creaters that seemed to
enjoy themselves so much. I never seed so many
children together before in all my life, and it seemed to
me ther wasn't a sickly one among 'em. Perhaps the
sickly ones couldn't come out when the wether was so
cool. But if they was a fair specemen of the children
of Filladelfy, then I can say there aint a city in the
world that can beat her for handsum, clean, well-dressed,
healthy-lookin children. Ther was lots of nurses among
'em to take care of 'em, and now and then you could see
a pair of little niggers tryin to mix in with 'em; but it
was no go, and the pore little blackys had to sneak
round the corners and look on like pore folks at a frollick,
the little children not bein sufficiently edicated yet
to enable them to discover their equals in the sable descendants
of Africa.

While I was lookin about in the square who should
I see but the famous Count Barraty, what was out to
Pineville you know about two years ago lecturein on
Greece. Thar he was with the same old shaggy locks
and big moustaches, standin near a groop of servant
galls, with his arms folded, lookin on in the attitude of
Bonaparte at St. Helleny. Poor old feller I couldn't
help but pity him, when I thought what terrible vicissitudes
he has passed through sense he was in Georgia.
You know when he left Pineville he told us we would
hear from him in the papers, and in less than a month
we did hear from him shore enuff in the Pickyune, what
gin a account of that terrible encounter he had with a
cowhide in the hands of sum gentleman in New Orleans,
whose lady didn't understand Greek enuff to enable her

to appreciate his foreign manners. The count don't wear
so much jewelry now as he use to in Georgia, and his
clothes look a little seedy. But he's the same old Count
in every other respect. As soon as he seed me he relaxed
the austerity of his moustaches and went out of
the square.

Bimeby the swoiree was over, and the nurses begun
to gether up ther charges and prepare for gwine home.
The merry laugh and song soon died away, and troop
after troop of little people filed out of the gates in every
direction, until the square was entirely deserted.

It was tea time and I went to my hotel. Sense tea I
have rit you this letter, informin you of my arrival here.
I'm gwine to bed early to-night, and if it don't rain to-morrow
I'm gwine to take a early start and see what
Filladelfy's made out of before nite. So no more from