University of Virginia Library

LETTER XI.

To Mr. Thompson:—Dear Sir—You know it's the
fashion now-a-days for young people at the south, when
they git married, to start rite off to the north before the
preacher has hardly had time to bless 'em. Well, I
never could make out what they done so for—I never
could see why they couldn't stay at home til they got
rite well acquainted with one another before they went
whar they wouldn't see nothing but strangers. One
thing I do know though, and that is, they nor nobody
else don't come to these big cities to sleep; for if the
seven sleepers themselves was to put up in one of these
northern hotels, they'd have to take a dose of lodnum
to save ther reputations. The omnibusses and carriages,
and drays and carts, seems all the time like one everlastin
harrycane, roarin and rattlin, and crashin and
smashin along over the stones from mornin til night,
and from night til mornin; and I don't care if they put
you seven stories high, you can hear 'em all the time.
and you can't sleep a wink, if you're ever so tired, til
you learn to sleep with your ears open, and to dream
'bout bein in sich a infernal racket that you can't hear
yourself snore.

I aint very certain whether I waked up at all or not
this mornin, but I got up to breckfast, and after sprucin
up a little, I went out to see the city. Gwine along up
to Sixth street, who should I meet but Mr. More, what
you know was out to Pineville winter before last, travellin
for his helth. You remember he was almost ded
with the consumption, and looked like he was bleeged

to carry rocks in his pockets to keep the wind from
blowin him away. Well, would you blieve it, he's a
sound and well man, and looks this day as if he mought
live to be a hundred years old. I never seed such a
alteration in any body in my life, and I wouldn't have
know'd him from Adam if he hadn't spoke to me fust.

“Why, Major Jones,” see he, “how are you—how
d'ye do? I'm so glad to see you. How's Mrs. Jones
and the baby, and all of 'em?”

I looked at him right hard while he was shakin my
hand, and ses I, “You've got the advantage of me,
sir.”

“Why, don't you know me, Major—More's my
name—don't you remember More, what used to come to
your plantation after—?”

“To be sure,” ses I. “But is it possible? Why
you don't look like the same man. I never should
have know'd you agin in the world. What upon yeath
has brung you out so?”

“Why, major, when I cum back almost ded last
summer, I tuck to drinkin—”

“Taint possible, Mr. More; is you bloated up so?”
ses I.

“Oh no,” ses he, “I didn't take to drinkin licker.
I drunk 'bout fifteen bottles of Schenck's Pulmonic
Syrup, and you see what it's done for me.”

“Is it possible?” ses I.

“Yes,” ses he, “I weigh a hundred and thirty-five
pounds now, and I'm indebted to Schenck's Syrup for
all but my bones. But no more about that,” ses he.
“Whar are you gwine, and what can I do for you. Is
yer famly along?”

“No,” ses I, “I'm jest on a little trip of observation
to the north, and am only gwine to stay a day or two to
look at your city.”

“Well,” ses he, “then you'll jest walk with me to
the Exchange. When I git through a little bisness I've

got thar, we'll take a drive, and I'll show you the wonders
of this part of the world.”

Well, we went down to the Exchange, a butiful white
marble bildin, with columns and porticos, and two monstrous
grate big lions layin upon the side of the steps.
Its a very handsum bildin, and like all the public bildins
in Filladelfy, is as clean and white as a Georgia bred-tray
after a hard scrubbin. I looked round the big
Change room, at the angels painted on the ceilin, and
the other curiosities, til Mr. More got through his bisness,
and then we went to the hotel, whar I waited til
he could go home and git reddy.

Bimeby here he cum in his carriage, with two splended
match greys, and a couple of frends who was gwine with
us. After introducin me to Mr. Wiggins and Mr. Hunter,
we got in and druv out to Fairmount Water Works on
the Skoolkill.

I've seed picters of this place before, but I didn't
have no idee it was so handsum, or that it was sich a
grate curiosity. I can't take time to describe it to you
now, but I can jest give you a idee of it. Well, you
must know the river Skoolkill is a grate big river, almost
as big as the Savanna or the Chattahooche in Georgia,
that runs down by the city til it empties into the Delaware.
It used to go sweepin along on its journey to
the sea as free as any other river in the nation, til some
years ago, when the city authorities tuck it into ther heds
that they'd dam it, and set it to work. So they did;
and now it don't only furnish the water that the people
use, but it is compelled, its own self, to throw that water
up into the basins on the hill, so it can run down in the
pipes all over the city. Ther is some of the biggest
water wheels thar in the world, what make a noise like
distant thunder, and remind one of the groans of old
Ixion, as ther grate ponderous forms turn gloomily on
ther never-resting axis. The house whar the works
is, is a dark ugly place, and made me feel bad to be

thar, but when I cum out and looked at the butiful
basin of water between it and the hill, and seed the
statu of a gall standin on a rock jest above, holdin a
goose by the legs, with its neck stretched up and squirtin
out of its mouth a stream of crystal water, that shot
up into the bright sunshine and come down in sparklin
dimonds all over her white marble shoulders, and seed
the handsum bildins and statues and fountains, and the
butiful scenery all around, I thought it was one of the
most delightful places I ever seed in my life, and if I'd
had time to spare I could spent a whole day looking
round it.

After lookin about awhile at the Wire Suspension
Bridge and other curiosities, we went to the Girard
College, what we've heard so much about for the last
fifteen years. You know Mr. Girard was a monstrous
rich man, what died in Filladelfy a long time ago, and
left a heap of money to bild a college for the edication
of the pore orfan boys of Pensilvany. The money was
left in the hands of directors, who was to see that it was
put to the proper purpose. Well, they're bildin a college,
sure enuff, but I have my doubts whether it will ever be
any benefit to the pore orfans for whom it was intended.
It aint done yet, and thousands of pore children have
growed up to be men sense it was commenced. When
it is done, it will be one of the most aristocratic lookin
institutions in this country, and I'm of the notion that
if any pore boy ever does go through it, it will be like
I did: in at the door and out at the roof, if he don't git
kicked out before he gits so high.

They tell me it aint nothin like the bildin Mr. Girard
wanted it to be, and all the money has been used up in
bildin a palace that wont have nothin to support it after
it's bilt. I spose then it'll be seized for its debts and
sold to some rich corporation for 'bout half what the
ground is worth that it stands on, after which it will become
a school whar no pore boy can ever learn his A.

B. C's. One thing is certain, it will be the handsumest
school house in creation when it is done; but I think
if I had the money what one of its white marble pillars
cost, I could do more good to the pore orfans of Pensilvany
with it than the whole bildin will ever do. Nobody
can look at this magnificent pile without bein filled
with admiration; but every true frend of the pore orfan
would rather see it tumbled to the ground, if the money
it has cost could be used to bild log free schools where
they're needed, and pay teachers that would edicate the
poor children of the country. The greatest wonder to
me is, how a man what had sense enuff to make so much
money, and filanthropy enuff to give it for such a object,
could allow'd himself to be so bamboozled in the management
of it. It convinces me of one thing, and that
is, if a man really wants to do good in this world with
his money, he better be at it when he's on the top of the
ground himself.

We went through the bildin from the bottom to the
top. It's all solid brick and marble, even to the roof,
what is covered with marble shingles on brick rafters.
Fire can't git hold of wood enuff to raise a blaze, and
the walls is so thick and strong that nothin short of
Florida lightnin or a South American yeathquake couldn't
knock it down.

While we was standin lookin at its lofty proportions,
its white marble walls, and its massive Corinthian columns,
two little ragged boys come up to us and ax'd
us to give 'em some money. “Please, sir, give me a
cent to buy some bred for my mammy,” sed one of 'em.
He didn't have no matches to sell, and I gin him a thrip,
but I couldn't help but think how much more real interest
he had in that thrip, than he had in the magnificent
edifice that was erectin for him. The old maxim ses,
that charity covers a heap of sins, but when the amount
of money that is misapplied by the ostentation of the
rich, in the name of charity, is deducted from the sum

total that is given, ther wouldn't be enuff left to save
many souls, I reckon.

The next place we went to, was the Laurel Hill
cemetary, a butiful berryin ground what stands on the
banks of the Skoolkill, about a mile above the waterworks.
The fust thing we seed after we got in the gate
was a butiful group of sculpture in coarse brown stone,
representin Walter Scott the great novelist, settin down
with his hat in his hand, holdin a interview with “Old
Mortality,” who is in the act of repairin a old tomb-stone,
while his donkey is standin by with his bag of tools on
its back. The figures looks like life, and made me feel
very solemn, as I recollected the character of that odd
old man. It is a great pity that the artist didn't use
better materials. Such a work should last as long as
the fame of the great author, what will endure til the
eend of the granite hills themselves. Mr. More tuck
me all through the grounds, and showed me a heap of
handsome monuments, and tombs of great statesmen
and generals, and rich people, among which was some
that cost more than enuff to bild a fine house to live in.
It is a butiful place, whar rich people moulder in good
society; but whether they rest any better beneath ther
costly marble monuments, than the pore people who sleep
on the only spot of yeath they ever occupied without
payin rent, and who have not even a slab, to perpetuate
ther memories, is a circumstance what depends on the
character of the lives they led in this world. The
monuments of wealth is gratifyin to the pride and grateful
to the feelins and affections of the livin, but it is only
the wealth of virtuous actions that avails us any thing
when we are laid in the grave. A pure unspotted heart
in the grave is worth all the costly marble that could be
piled upon it.

We looked round and red the inscriptions til we got
tired, and then we went to our carriage. It was pretty
near dinner time, and the company proposed to go to

Evan's Tavern, at the Falls, and git a dinner of Catfish
and Coffy. Well, Mr. More's greys soon brung us to
the place, and we had a dinner in no time, and a fust
rate dinner it was. I never drunk better Coffy nor eat
better Catfish, and we had lots of other good things besides.
If you're ever in these parts, you must be sure
to take a dinner at the Falls Tavern.

After dinner we went on til we cum to the Wissahicken,
and druv along on its banks for about a mile,
through some of the prettyest scenery I ever seed in my
life. The stream runs along between rocky banks that
rise into bold and broken hills on both sides, and are
covered with trees that looks as fresh and wild as if they
didn't stand in sight of the smoke of one of the largest
cities in the world. Every now and then we met parties
of boys and galls who was out boat-ridin and gatherin
flowers, and once we came across a whole skool of galls
who was out on a May frolick, with music and banners,
carrying ther armsfull of flowers, and laughin and singin
like so many wood nymphs. This is the place whar
Fanny Kemble writ sich butiful poetry, and I don't
wonder at it, for I do blieve a wheelbarrow would squeak
in measured melody if it was rolled along on the bank
of this butiful stream without grease. But poor Fanny
lives no longer in a world of poetic dreams. She has
proved the sad realities of this wicked world, and her
eyes, that no longer look upon the lovely Wissahicken,
would now see more to make her sad than happy in
scenes that was once so delightful to her contemplation.

Turnin away from the Wissahicken, we crossed over
to Germantown, the place whar you know the great
battle was fit in the revolution. We undertuck to go
the whole length of it, but after we got up as far as
Chew's House, whar the British made sich a obstinate
resistance, I begun to feel sorry for the horses, and told
Mr. More we had better turn back. It's a monstrous
curious, ancient looking town, with houses all bilt of

stone, and looking like the great grand-dadies of all the
houses in the world. I would liked to seed tother eend
of it, but I'm told it's so long that when people from the
Filladelfy eend want to go to tother, they take the steamboats
on the Delaware and go round by way of Burlington
or Trenton, New Jersey. The inhabitants is most
of 'em people who do bisness in Filladelfy and have
their residence out thar. Mr. Wiggins pinted out to
me the residences of a good many of his acquaintances,
and among the rest that of Mr. C. Alexander, the Alexander
the Great of the Filladelfy press.

We wasn't long gwine to the city, but it was some
time before we got to the United States Hotel. As we
druv along through the streets I couldn't help but notice
how strait and clean they was, and every now and then
we met people what they call Quakers—the stiffest,
starchiest, mealy-mouthed lookin people I ever seed.
The men had on broad-tailed snuff-colored coats and
broad-rimmed hats, and looked as sober and solemn as
if butter wouldn't melt in their mouths. The wimmin,
most all of 'em, had on drab colored dresses and wore
silk bonnets what sot rite down over ther faces like calabashes,
so you couldn't hardly see whether they was
handsum or not. But every now and then I got a glimse
of a monstrous pretty face from under them bominable
wagon-cover lookin bonnets. Ther's a grate many Quakers
in Filladelfy, and they're monstrous good people,
only they will meddle with what don't consarn 'em, and
keep all the time botherin the Southern people 'bout ther
niggers. I don't want to say any thing agin the Quakers
—I know that as a class ther aint a more honest, respectable
body of people in the country. But then I
really do think that people what claim so much liberty
of conscience as to exampt 'em from the discharge of
ther duty to ther country, by whose laws they are protected
in all the privileges of citizenship, ought at least
to allow the people of the South liberty of conscience

to be the judges of ther own domestic institutions. People
like them who go for non-resistance under all circumstances,
ought to be the last people in the world to
make aggressions upon the rights of others. But I
musent git on that subject or I'll never git done my letter.
It was most tea-time when we got back. I went to the
Theatre to see the Opera last night, but I'll tell you all
about that in my next. So no more from