The principal street exhibits pretty young people, who would have no occasion to fear comparison with the beau monde in Eastern or European capitals. The thoroughfares are crowded with vehicles, and spruce carriages and well turned-out horses may be seen in the favourite drive, that has been made over an indifferent road to the base of the Rocky Mountains, which appear to be close at hand, though they are thirteen miles away. But here and there in the well-dressed crowd may be seen a Bohemian pur sang, or a miner in his every day clothes, bent on a rig out and a good time of it. The streets, unpaved, dusty, and rugged, are very wide, and bordered with trees, and the houses generally are built of good red brick instead of wood; and there are runnels of water like those one sees in Pretoria and other Dutch towns in South Africa. The roads about the city leave much to be desired; but Rome was not built in a day.
There are many ready-made clothing establishments in the main streets, and there is a heavy trade in tinned provisions. Through the Western States, as in South Africa, the débris of provision-tins constitutes a certain and considerable addition to the objects to be seen in the vicinity of every house, and to the mounds of rubbish in the street of every village. How indeed could the first-comers in such regions keep body and soul together without the supplies in such a portable form of the first necessaries of life? Having once run up a town in these remote wastes, the inhabitants are still compelled to make a liberal use of the same sort of food, and mines of tinned iron gradually accumulate around them.
Our first excursion was to the Argo Works, under very pleasant auspices, for we had the wife of the Senator, who is one of the principal partners, and Mrs. Pearce, whose husband is largely interested in the works, taking charge of us. The works are at some distance outside the town, but the lofty chimneys vomit out quite sufficient vaporous fumes and smoke to blight the vegetation and to give the people near at hand a taste of their quality. I am not going to give a minute description, for more reasons than one, of what we saw at the works; but it was a very interesting exhibition of the processes by which the precious metals are extracted from the ores and delivered to commerce. The Argo Works simply assay and reduce ores on commission, but the business is on a very large scale. Immense piles, in fact small mountains, of brown, cinnamon and earth coloured dust and rock were heaped up in the sheds, to be brought to the furnaces and turned, when divested of the lead, iron, copper, and gold, out in ingots of silver. All the methods for the extraction of silver were shown to us, but I committed a gross indiscretion when I asked, in my ignorance, "How do you extract the gold?" "That," said the urbane gentleman who was conducting us over the works, "we never permit strangers to see." So there is more there than meets the eye.
The business of assaying here must be profitable, and if the reputation of any firm be once established there is a secure fortune for its members. The miners flock to them, and they can dictate terms. The extent of mining work in the country around may be inferred from the numerous offices in connection with it in the city. As a specimen of what Messrs. Bush and Tabor of our hotel give their guests for dinner, let me offer you this menu of the 5.30 ordinary to-day (June 16). Soup, beef à l'Anglaise; fish, boiled trout, anchovy sauce; corned beef, leg of mutton, sirloin beef, chickens with giblet sauce, fricassee à la Toulouse, veal, kidneys sautés aux croûtons, rice, croquettes, baked pork and beans, saddle of antelope, currant jelly, lamb, tongue, chicken salad, spiced salmon; innumerable "relishes" and vegetables, baked rice pudding, strawberry pie, apricot pie, jelly, blancmange, vanilla ice cream, macaroons, pound cake, fruit, Swiss cheese, nuts, coffee, &c. The wines were not cheap: champagne 16s. a bottle, St. Julien 6s., Leoville 14s., sherry 8s., brandy 14s. per bottle. Orders for "drinks" at the bar after dinner were much more general than orders for wine at dinner.
Denver, in spite of its mineral wealth, is very poor, however, in that of which the want would make life, even in America, intolerable. The supply of drinking-water is scanty and bad, and last year there was nearly a water famine. The cartes in the hotel announced "Water used in this room is boiled and filtered." But great efforts have been made to furnish the inhabitants with a store, constant and adequate, of the precious fluid, and we saw very considerable works, the property of an Irish gentleman, erected before the town attained its present dimensions, which were to be supplemented by a new enterprise respecting which we heard much. Perhaps no town of equal size in an equal length of time has ever had so much money and money's worth flowing in and through it as Denver since the Colorado mines were worked. It is asserted that the trade of the town for 1881 will exceed 8,000,000l. Colorado in 1879 yielded ores to the value of more than 3,750,000l. The output in the present year will exceed that of 1880. In that year $35,417,517 worth of gold and $20,183,889 of silver (more than 11,000,000l.) was deposited in the United States Mint and Assay Office. There is, besides, vast wealth in flocks and herds, and Denver is the place where the people resort from Colorado for purposes of trade and pleasure; altogether an astounding place, with a future quite dazzling to think of, unless the mines give in, and even then Colorado cannot again be poor; its climate and scenery will always attract travellers, and its capacity for feeding sheep and cattle will secure its population. "And as to the beetle?" Why, no one would have anything to say to it. Nothing was known of it. There might be such things in other States. "And the name?" Probably it was a red-coloured bug, and got the name Colorado just as the river, or tobacco, was called, from the hue of it. At all events the bug did not belong to the State.
The interest which the progress of Colorado and the condition of society in the State excite was exemplified by the appearance in Denver of a party of Hungarian noblemen, whose names gave occasion for stumbling to the journalists who copied them out of the Hotel Register—Count Andrassy and others, who were travelling under the guidance of Dr. Rudolf Meyer, of Vienna. Although the air of Denver is so much bepraised, it happens that most of our party felt rather overcome at the end of our excursion through the town and the visit to the smelting works, and one of the Hungarians was confined to his room. However, they sallied out before dinner, and a gloomy prophet of evil remarked, "If these strangers should have a difficulty, I consider they'll hev only theirselves to blame. Some citizens don't like strangers comin' in and starin' at them, and they're apt to be awkward in their tempers in the afternoon." Knowing no danger, and fearing none, they went off, and were a long time absent. Meantime we were preparing for the road, as we were bound for Leadville, the city of the "biggest boom" of mining times—"the Silver El Dorado," as the guide-book, with a magnificent "bull," describes it. Our Hungarian friends returned to the hotel ere we left. They were filled with enthusiasm, and with a good deal also of curiosity in regard to the shootings of which they had heard so much, and were following in our track next day, and so we parted sans adieux. How the love of gold has filled these lone valleys with desperate men! "They are a rough lot, sure enough," said the landlord, "but lynching keeps them down; and it is much better than hanging according to law, to my mind. It certainly is cheaper." "How is it cheaper?" "Why," said he, "when a man is prosecuted, or when he is tried before the judges, the law expenses are heavy, and they fall on the county. When a man is lynched there is only the expense of the rope, and a little loss of time for the boys who do the job." From Denver to Pueblo and from Pueblo to Leadville the line is on the narrow-gauge principle, and our train, which left at seven o'clock in the evening, seemed to be driven on no principle at all; for, anxious to astonish a Duke perhaps, or Britishers generally, the driver did what certainly could not be called his level best to send us along up and down a very rough line, and round the sharpest curves, at the rate of forty miles an hour, so that when we turned in, our rest, if rest at all it were, was exceedingly broken, and we trundled about in our berths as if we were in a ship in a pretty heavy sea. Still this narrow-gauge was the only line which could be made through such a country as we were traversing. Peeps out of the window ever and anon revealed, high up amongst the stars, rugged mountain-tops, and for ever there came the sound of rushing water, near or remote, as the train "bounded" on its course. I do not know what stations we passed on our way, but the night was very long, and I greeted with pleasure the first gleam of light above the hill-tops. The Arkansas River was on our left, and at dawn we had glimpses of its turbid stream running madly in deep gorges far below us. At the South Arkansas station the train halted soon after daybreak, and then we diverged from the main line, and a light train took us over the Arkansas River by a fine bridge on its way up the Gunnison Extension to visit the highest mountain-pass traversed by a railway in the world. South Arkansas station is 217 miles from Denver, and is 6944 feet—and Marshall Pass (25 miles away), to which we were bound, is 10,760 feet—above sea-level. There were grades of 211 and curves of 24° on the way, and the railroad twisted in and out among the ravines like an iron Alexandrine, for ever ascending till we had passed the limits of forest life. There were stations at short intervals—Poncha Springs, Mears, Silver Creek—from each other. From the stations there is a good deal of cross-country traffic, and at one place we saw three stages laden with men and women—or rather, to be polite and accurate, let me say with women and ladies—starting, one with six horses, and the other two with four each. These were bound for Gunnison, and as we were halting for a little, the Duke and some others got out of the train, and sauntered up towards the wooden shanties which formed "the town," consisting of the usual array of saloons and drinking places. However, our course was cut short by the information vouchsafed by one of the officials, that it might be as well not to go up, as there had been a big shooting match that morning, and that one man was killed and four had been wounded, "and some of them were on the drink yet." From 4.30 A.M. to 6.45 A.M. we struggled up towards the pass till the line came to an end near the summit, and we were rewarded by some very fine views, exceedingly like those of the Mont Cenis Railway or the Sömmering. The hills on both sides of the line were stippled and flaked with snow, but there was no extensive field, so far as the eye could see, nor was there any appearance whatever of a glacier, the tops generally being clear of snow, which only lodged in the ravines and hollows. Strange it was in these alpine heights to hear the clang of Italian tongues; but most of the navvies were from Italy, and if not quite so strong as English or Americans, they were in more favour with contractors, because they did more work, owing to their steadiness and sobriety. The line was being pushed on at an astonishing rate, and one man was pointed out to us who had laid four and a half miles of railway in one day, "the biggest thing of the kind ever done." Our enjoyment of the scenery was very much diminished by our animal appetites, stimulated by the sharp mountain air, which craved incessantly for food. But not even a cup of coffee was to be had until we got back to the South Arkansas station, late in the morning, where an excellent breakfast awaited us. Here we were detained some time by a derailment of an engine in front.
From South Arkansas station to Leadville (61 miles) the railroad is still more aspiring. The higher we ascend the less striking are the scenic effects, but the grades are not very severe till we come to Malta, where it reaches 130; from Hilliers to Leadville the maximum is 176, the curves being often 15°. The general character of the country may be conceived from these figures, but no words can convey any idea of the wholesale destruction of timber which has marked the progress of the explorers and prospectors. Where the axe was weary the blaze and the fire were called in, and hundreds of miles of forest are laid in blackened ruin. At last we are on a level with the hill-tops. There, on the hill-tops and in the valleys of a sterile region in front of you, amidst those tall chimneys vomiting out smoke and steam, is a wilderness of wooden huts, "the Great Carbonate Camp"—where we leave the train—spread out over an undulating plateau, broken into mound-like hills and sharp hillocks—bustling streets filled with the most remarkable swarm of all nations that ever settled on any one spot in the world. The story of Leadville reads like a chapter out of some book of Oriental fable. It is a huge barrack of wooden houses, with some solid and important buildings, with masses of tree-stumps cropping up in the centre of the main thoroughfares, pitched over an undulating, rugged, dusty ledge. In the midst of blocks of houses sprout up the chimneys of furnaces and mining works, the clang of machinery fills the air, which is thick with clouds of dust. It was a few years ago an utterly wild, lifeless waste amidst the mountains covered with forests, when three brothers, named Gallagher, exploring from California, were led by some genius, good or bad, to test the material of the rocks in the ravine. They struck gold ore, and silver too, and they set up a claim; and presently they sold their shares in the land which they had appropriated, for 40,000l., which they divided. Two used their wealth wisely, and made more of it, and, taking to themselves the members of the family, throve exceedingly; one, not so wise, if he were quite as good, did not prosper as well as his brothers. But the scene of their operations was soon swarming with enterprising miners. There was a mighty "boom." Now there is a city! Leadville is, I think, the most astonishing city on earth, but I am not by any means inclined to say that it is a place I should like to be astonished about for more than a few hours.
The party drove to the Morning Star, said to be the best mine in Leadville; and the Duke, Lady Green, Sir Henry Green, and others, went down the mine in miners' clothes or cloaks. Two others, whose names I shall not give, remained above, and had, I fancy, the best of the time. Afterwards we visited Grant's Smelting Works, and then back to the Clarence Hotel and dined, strolling out afterwards through the town and visiting the billiard saloons, the Grand Central Theatre, and finally, where we were told Leadville life was to be seen in all its glory, the faro and the kino tables, which, however, were doing but very little business, as it was not until after midnight that play in the town generally commenced. Instead of sleeping at the hotel, we resolved to take refuge in the train, which was drawn up at the siding; and we had to drive in order to reach it, as it was considered unsafe to walk through the streets in the dark.
We started at four o'clock next morning, June 18th, and on arriving at Arkansas Station learned that an engine was off the line in front of us. Breakdown gangs were sent for, and all the locomotive talent amongst our passengers repaired quickly to the scene. As it was not easy to lift the engine, the engineers adopted the expedient of laying a temporary rail to turn its flank so as to enable us to pass round it, which we did after a delay of about an hour. The Duke got out and sat on the cow-catcher by way of a change. But the interest we took in the scenery was somewhat diminished by the intelligence that the delay caused by the engine would prevent our enjoying the "soda bath" we had been promised at Cañon City, and the sight of the State Prison, where murderers were to be paraded by the dozen. About twenty miles north of the Grand Cañon, the gorges through which the river runs became wider and deeper. All that has been written about the Grand Cañon utterly fails to convey an adequate idea of its exceeding grandeur and wildness. The rocks—closing in so that the spectator in the car, looking forward, thinks the progress of the train must be arrested, and that it is not possible for it to get out of the cul de sac which appears in front, rising aloft for upwards of two thousand five hundred feet on each side—are coloured with the brightest hues, and present an infinite variety of form. The impetuous current of the Arkansas River, contracted at times to the breadth of some twenty or thirty yards, and penned into a space in which the waters boil and toss as if about to leap on and submerge the passing cars, roars wildly down below on our right at a depth varying as the line rises and falls. But it is at the Bridge—a triumph of engineering skill—that the horrors of the pass culminate. The sides of the ravine approach so near that the daring engineer was enabled to execute the idea of lowering from above a -shaped frame or trestle of iron; and, the ends catching on each side of the gorge, permitted him to work on it for the construction of the iron platform over which the train is carried at a height of some hundreds of feet right over the maddened river. You can look down through the interstices of the girders and glance shudderingly at the hell of waters below—a sight and sensation never to be forgotten. The ravine gradually expands and the cliffs recede as the line strikes eastwards; and though the scenery retains a wild and savage character for many miles farther, the impressions of the Grand Cañon caused us to regard it with comparative indifference. We heard many tales of the great railway war which was waged for the possession of the pass, of which traces still remained in the ruins of posts of vantage and observation, and the works of the defeated railroad visible on the other side of the ravine. At night we reached Pueblo and took up our quarters in our own cars, and continued our journey, after some delay, towards Kansas City.
CHAPTER V.
KANSAS TO ST. LOUIS.
Liquor Law—Kansas Academy of Science—An Incident of Travel—A Parting Symposium—Life in the Cars—St. Louis to New York.
June 19th.—Still on the rolling prairies; in the country of compulsory abstinence—the paradise of Sir Wilfred Lawson. At 9.30 A.M. the train stopped at Newton, 431 miles from Pueblo, and 281 from Kansas.
Here a phenomenon—there was a man by the road side who walked with unsteady step, whose legs tottered, and who lurched violently as he came down the road at that early hour. "He is a sick man," observed one of my friends in the train; "that gentleman has been taking medicine." In the Kansas Act there is a clause enabling physicians, in case of need, to order stimulants for the patients without penalty; but I am told the doctors have generally refused to act upon that permission, so I suppose our friend had been consulting an unlicensed practitioner.
It would be ill done, when I am anxious to acknowledge the pleasure and profit which I derived from my passage through the State, if I did not record the satisfaction with which I perused a volume of the "Transactions of the Kansas Academy of Science," which by accident I picked up at one of the stations. The very name speaks trumpet-tongued for the progress which has been made in this wild region. The year before last, the twelfth annual meeting of the Academy was held in Topeka, and I find amongst the list of papers read such subjects as these:—The Kansas Lepidoptera; Kansas Minerals; the Mounds of Southern Kansas; Recent additions to Kansas Plants; Kansas Botany; Kansas Meteorites; Phonetic representations of Indian Language; Sinkholes; Elementary Sounds of Language; Mound-builders; On Recent Indian Discoveries. And among the lecturers there was Professor B. F. Mudge, who died last year, whose name probably is known to a very limited number of scientific men outside the University of Kansas. Generally the papers contributed by the gentlemen of the State attest industry and attainments which make their praise of the Professor particularly valuable. It is curious enough to pick up in a railway carriage, traversing such a scene of comparative wildness and vast uninhabited plains in Western Kansas, an exceedingly interesting examination of the Helmholtz theories of sight. The object of the lecturer would scarcely be suspected by the reader. We had already been struck by the extraordinary absence of signalmen, or of any of the complex apparatus of men and machinery which may be seen in Europe, and notably in England, to report the progress of trains on the lines. Collisions, however, occur in America where these precautions are not taken, and the lecturer attributed a good deal of these accidents to colour-blindness, which appears to have attracted considerable attention in the United States. Surgeons, pilots, &c., are tested for colour, and in the army colour-blindness disqualifies the recruit for employment in the signal corps. Altogether the papers give an impression that in this new State there are diligent students of natural history and physics, and profound inquirers into all the phenomena of life. There was a reverse to the medal.
At a station where the train halted beyond Pueblo, a card was handed to me by one of the stewards. "The gentleman is, as he seemed very pressing, outside; but I told him you were engaged." I started as I read the name and address on the card, as well I might. They indicated that an old friend whom I had left in a condition of great bodily weakness and infirmity in London, was close at hand in this remote region—a wonderful if welcome fly in amber. I ran out of the drawing-room into the next car, and there saw a man, agitated and travel-worn, whom I had never, to the best of my belief, seen in my life before. His story was told, if not soon, at least in time to let me partly understand the situation ere the train moved off. The stranger had been in the service of the gentleman whose card he sent in to me, but had left it to better himself in America, and had gone out as valet to an American of good position at Colorado Springs. He found, however, according to his own account, that he was expected to do things not required of a valet in his own country, such as lumbering, wood-cutting, and the like, and so he had thrown up his situation and was going back to England. He had had quite enough of Colorado Springs. "I was not there above a month, and I was shot at twice," he said. "Once because I made some remark in a bar-room, where a chap was abusing Englishmen; and another time while I was speaking in the street to a man a fellow had a grudge against. He fired at him across the road, and the ball whistled within a hair's-breadth of my head." He had arrived at Pueblo some time before our special, and as the morning was warm, he walked into a bar near the platform, while the engine of his train was watering, to get a glass of lemonade. As he was drinking it, a man walked in and called for a glass of whisky, putting down, at the same time, what seemed to be a bank note, on the counter. The boniface said, "I haven't got change for this twenty-dollar bill—perhaps this gentleman can oblige you." The unsuspecting Briton, who had put the money for his passage to Liverpool in a purse, drew it out to change the note, and the strange customer at once seized it from his hand, and rushed off towards the street with his booty. The Britisher ran after him, but checked his wild career when he saw, within an inch of his head, the muzzle of a revolver which the robber had drawn, and the fellow vanished. "Won't you help me to stop the thief; you see what has happened?" exclaimed the victim turning to the barman. "I guess there was no money in that purse, sir. And if there was, perhaps you had no more right to it than he had." Then the Briton dashed off after Don Guzman, shouting "police," and was at once accosted by an officer of the Pueblo force. He hurriedly stated the facts. The policeman smiled. "I think you won't see that pile agin," he remarked; "and if you don't look sharp ye'll miss yer train, that's a fact!" The man had his railway ticket all right, a few dollars in his pocket, and I told him I would see him and get him a passage, if I found on inquiry his story was true. My companions thought the tale suspicious—but I believe it was true, and I subsequently franked the man to England.
Now here we had an exemplification of the manners and customs of the district. Such an act of violence and robbery might occur in London—anywhere. But what of the apathy, or perhaps complicity, of the bar man? And if it or they be considered not altogether abnormal, is the conduct of the policeman to be accepted as quite consistent with the discharge of a policeman's duty? Well, whilst I was pondering on these things, there came to me the best possible adviser—a judge in this Israel—our excellent Palinurus, Mr. White. He threw a new, if not a side light on the subject. "Depend on it he is a confidence man. The trains are full of them! Our conductors have express orders about the rascals." And he explained that a confidence man is a swindler—very often an Englishman, who makes it his business to look out for unwary strangers, on whom he imposes with some tale of distress, or some recital of imaginary misfortune and adventure. As the man I had seen was coming on in the train in our wake, Mr. White promised to talk with the conductor, and find out, if he could, the truth about the Pueblo robbery. Before dusk a telegram was forwarded by him to me from the station where he left us, to say that the conductor had no doubt the man was robbed, but that it was partly his own fault, and to warn me to be cautious in my dealings with him.
We have now been travelling straight on end for 1160 miles, with only two engineers and two firemen and one engine, a feat of endurance which has greatly exercised the Duke of Sutherland, who, as a practical director of the London and North-Western Railway, has knowledge of such matters, and who contrasts the performance with the experience he has on the home lines, where engines, engineers, and firemen would have been relieved or laid up over and over again. The head engineer of the line, who joined us, Mr. Hackney, formerly of Congleton, had become accustomed to these journeyings and endurances, which were brought to the front in our conversation by the engine-driver appearing at the door of the carriage to claim a dollar which he had won from the Duke in a bet that he could not do the distance without laying up the engine for repairs.
All the long Sabbath-day we travelled on through the prairie, catching glimpses now and then of wooden villages, around which trees were beginning to sprout up, and of the little churches with knots of carts, waggons, horses, and buggies outside, and people waiting for the end of the sermon. Now and then, perhaps at intervals of fifteen miles or so, are places of larger importance, such as Emporia, a rising city on the plains, where many steeples pointed aloft indicated considerable diversity of creed. An authority, not always to be relied upon, stated that there are fourteen churches belonging to the town.
There was a parting symposium in the second Pullman ere we reached Topeka. Mr. White, Major Anderson, General Brown, Mr. Jerome, and my much wandering compatriot, a veritable Irish Ulysses, raised the tuneful melodies of the "Golden Slipper," the "Little Brown Jug," and the other tender psalmodies which had whiled away so many hours, for the last time in our society, and the little gages which were but the outward and visible signs of the regard we felt for our friends were exchanged with honest effusion. There may be—nay, there are—many jealousies and causes of estrangement between the people of the Old Country and of the New, but between the individuals of both there is a camaraderie which cannot, I believe, be found between Englishmen and the natives of any country except America.
"Good bye! God bless you! Be sure if ever you come to England you shall have a hearty welcome from me." "And from me!" "And me!" "And me!" The engine bell tolled, and we moved slowly on.
And we were left all alone! The pleasant companions of so many weeks had gone! I wonder if they missed us as much as we missed them?
While travelling across the Rockies and the desert to San Francisco and back, our course of life was pretty uniform, and one day followed another with almost perfect resemblance in the mode of existence and in all things except the scenery and the country through which we were passing. First, in the early morning came one of the attendants to our bedside with a cup of coffee, and then the curtains of the little cubicle were thrown aside and you looked out on either plain, or mountain, or river, or col; and on the faces of early risers at doors or windows as the train passed through some rising town. At one end of the saloon there was a bath-room, and from the tank there was always to be obtained sufficient water for the purpose of an early dip, which was enjoyed as occasion offered in turn by the party. Then a cigarette. Then we dropped in as people do at a country house, into the sitting-room, and exchanged ideas as to the progress made during the night, and the stoppages, wondered where we were, and had a little conversation with the conductor or Arthur as to the place where we could stop or get the papers—and so got over the morning till 9 o'clock, when breakfast was announced, consisting of fish, poultry, meat, fruit (I had nearly said flowers, for there was always a bouquet on the table), tea, coffee, and cold dishes, with abundance of milk and butter. Where the fish came from and how they were kept fresh was matter of wonder, for the instances were very rare in which there was any indication that it had not quite recently come out of the sea or the river. The supply of ice was liberal and unfailing, and whenever we stopped at any considerable station the whole disposable strength of the attendants in the train was employed in grappling with large blocks of it and stowing it away in the ice reservoir, in which were the larder and the cellar for such wines as needed cooling, and for the vegetables and meat, of which there were great stores constantly laid in. Then after breakfast there was reading or sight-seeing, investigating the line, examining the maps, receiving visits and returning them in other parts of the train, till in the very hot days it was necessary, after expelling the flies, which were troublesome on occasion, to draw the dust-blinds and the curtains of the carriages, to mitigate the fierceness of the sun. It was objected occasionally that by this process we deprived ourselves of the opportunity of what was called "seeing the country," but after all a glance now and then is quite sufficient to reveal the general character of the districts through which the train is running; and the most diligent and painstaking observer cannot keep his eyes fixed steadily for a day on the external aspects of the region through which he is travelling. I should be sorry to declare that every one was wide awake all the time of the forenoon and up to the period of lunch, which too often exceeded on the side of many dishes, being, in fact, a mid-day dinner; but then no one was obliged to eat more than he liked, or drink either. Then came the longest stretch of the day, and at its close another banquet; and as the sun declined and the temperature decreased, we could take more pleasure in looking out at the fantastic forms of the vegetation which clothed the arid rocks in the desert, or on the bright green prairie, or on the towering mountains, waiting till the sun had set, generally in a blaze of glory. There were, of course, interruptions and variations as we halted at the more important places; disappointments about letters which had been telegraphed for and which were expected day after day, constituted also a matter of conversation and discourse. There was an harmonium in the sitting-room of the palace car, but no one had the art of playing it, although we had plenty of music of another sort; for after dinner the gentlemen of the railroad party who had not dined with us came in, and we were never tired of listening to the songs, so original and amusing, which they gave with great spirit and admirable time and tune, for it happened they all possessed good voices, and the melodies with which the troops of coloured minstrels have now rendered the world familiar were then new to us.
During the whole of our tour the weather has been most favourable. With the exception of the rainy days in Canada, and the cold and rawness which characterised the time of our short visit to Richmond, there was nothing worse to complain of than continual sunshine. Now and then the temperature was a little too good to be pleasant when we were traversing the beds of the dry seas in the desert in Colorado and California, but that was something to look back upon with satisfaction, because there was no time lost in keeping within doors owing to the rain and storm or cold. "Within doors," however, is a phrase scarcely applicable to our mode of life, as it would imply that we were in stable habitations, whereas, as will have been seen by those who have accompanied us so far, we "lived and moved, and had our being" in railway carriages; a mode of life rendered so comfortable by all appliances, that it was sometimes no relief to be told that we would have to pass the night at an hotel.
For nine days and nine nights in succession, on one occasion, we never slept out of the carriages or got out of the train except to take a stroll about the station, or a peep into the street of a small town whilst we were waiting, and one got quite accustomed to that nomad and yet civilised mode of existence, where at every halting-place we were supplied with the latest intelligence by the local papers, and made the recipients of some attention or courtesy, visits and compliments (the remarks of the other sort not being many), bouquets of flowers, presents of fruit, and plenty of conversation. But that my critics might say I dilate too much upon the material enjoyment of life, I would describe at length the means which were supplied in the course of these long journeys for animal enjoyment. Never could there be found more attentive and obliging domestics than the coloured men who waited upon us—Arthur and his fellows. There lived in the kitchen compartment of the train, at the end of one of the saloons, a coloured cook, very intelligent and gossipy, full of quaint conceits and dishes and conversation, who commenced life as a slave on a Southern plantation, probably adopted for indoor purposes on account of his smartness. He liberated himself in the course of the war, and marched off with a regiment of Federals in the capacity of cook and body-servant to one of the officers, wherein he saw a great amount of very hard fighting at very close quarters. This adventurous modern Othello was wont to discourse with much animation when he came out for a breath of fresh air on the platform and could find anybody to talk to him, although he could move no more tender heart than that of Sir Henry Green. The gentlemen of the Atchison, &c., Railway, when travelling with us, had a cordon bleu in the saloon—an Italian or Frenchman, I think, or at all events a French-speaking man, who had served also, and would have done credit to an establishment where faults in a chef would not lightly be condoned. In the interchange of courtesies, Mr. White and his friends invited our party now and then to dine in the saloon, which was not "across the way," but up a little, on the line, being the saloon in front of us.
But here we are at Kansas City once again! At 5.30 P.M. the train arrived at the platform, which was gay with a Sunday crowd, of whom many were negresses—black, brown, brindled, and yellow citoyennes—in much variety of colour and garmenting. Unlike Samson, their weakness is in their hair, and like Achilles, they are vulnerable about the heels (to the arrows of an æsthetical criticism, which accepts the Greek idea of beauty in form); but they seemed to enjoy life amazingly, and not to be in need of beaux; perhaps the happiest people in the world now that their chattel days are over. It was late when we turned into our berths, for it was a lovely night and the fire-flies exercised a great attraction over us, but at last the charm was worn out and we slept till morning without a break.
June 20th.—Still the same boundless plain. In vain does one look for the grass fields with close, even, carpet-like surface to be seen in Europe. We are still passing through exceedingly rich land—the fields covered with flocks of sheep and herds of good-looking cattle. There are more trees by the stream-side, and shrubs growing in the hollows. Habitations are more frequent, and so are fencing and planting. As the sun was setting we approached St. Louis. There were some park-like glades, and vistas opening up to pleasant mansions, amid grounds showing marks of culture. There had been a severe thunderstorm the night before, and the St. Louis Station had still traces of its effects in pools of mud. But the rain had cooled the air, and the people were rejoicing exceedingly in the great improvement that had taken place in the weather, for, they told us, men and women had been dropping down with the heat a few days ago as though they had been struck by musketry.
The appearance of the St. Louis Terminus gave one a high idea of the importance of this city. Eight trains were waiting on their respective lines to start with passengers to all parts of the Union; and by the simple device of placing at the end of each train a large board announcing its destination and the time of its departure, much anxiety was saved to intending passengers, not to speak of the irritation of officials avoided by this simple expedient. The journey was continued by the Indianopolis and Vandalia, and by what is called the "Pa'handle" line to the Pennsylvania Railroad on to Philadelphia. The train was timed on Tuesday so that we were able to see the famous passage over the Alleghany Mountains from Conemaugh to Altoona. For nearly eleven miles we were carried without steam, and with the brakes on, through very fine scenery, down the mountain-side, but the summit was crossed in the darkness of a tunnel 1200 yards long. There are some striking engineering feats in the way of curves and gradients, and the trace of the line is very bold all the way down to Altoona, where the Pennsylvania Railroad engine and machinery shops are established—the centre of a population of some 17,000 souls, where twenty years ago "there were," as a friend said, "only bears, deer, woodpeckers, and skallywags." The Duke, Mr. Stephen, and our railway experts got out and visited the workshops, and came back very much pleased at the discovery of several London and North-Western men in good positions in the Pennsylvania Railroad Company's service, who welcomed their old directors with effusion, and that there was nothing visible there for Crewe to copy, unless perhaps cast-iron wheels. The speed at which we travelled was a sensible proof that we were once more on the line of our old friends of Pennsylvania. From Altoona to Harrisburg, 132 miles, we rattled along in two hours and forty-three minutes. On another stretch of the line we travelled eighty-three miles in one hour and forty-two seconds, including stoppages; and the rapid motion was very agreeable, as there was a perceptible increase of temperature after we reached the plains and approached the beautiful valley of the Susquehannah—a scene of industry, prosperity, and peace. Fortunately there was a good light on the river, and we had a fine view of the country all the way to Harrisburg under the rays of the setting sun. A little farther on we were gratified by the appearance of General Roberts at a station on the way, where he was awaiting the Duke to congratulate him on his safe return from the Western expedition, and we bade him farewell at his own house, with many sincere and well-deserved acknowledgments of great and constant kindness. Then over the river by the noble bridge, and on to Philadelphia. We did not visit Pittsburg, which was vomiting out masses of smoke, nor did we halt this time at the capital of the Quaker State.
CHAPTER VI.
NEW YORK—NEWPORT—DEPARTURE.
Coney Island—Newport—Bass-fishing—Habit of Spitting—Brighton Beach—Newport—Coaching—Extra Ecclesiam—Victories of American Horses—Newport Avenues—Return to New York—Our last day in America.
The special train was detained by the immense amount of traffic on the line, as we approached New York, and we did not reach Brooklyn till a little before 11 P.M. on June 21, so that it was past midnight when we ascended the steps of the Windsor Hotel, which we had selected by way of a change, and found to be every way commendable, with the exception of its distance from the busy parts of the city. The following day was devoted to letter reading and writing, receiving visitors, and various attempts "to go out," which were not generally successful, for New York was palpitating with the intense heat. The "heated term" was in full vigour, but it was now quite temperate in comparison to the excesses which had marked its advent some time before our arrival. In the evening we got up strength and courage enough to go to Wallack's Theatre, a very pretty, well-constructed house, and saw "The World" excellently acted and admirably put on the stage. Next day, June 23rd, in virtue of a solemn league and covenant with Uncle Sam and Mr. Hurlbut, the Duke and I devoted ourselves to fresh fields and pastures new, and ordered ourselves accordingly for Coney Island. A long bank of sand by the sea-shore has, by an accident, become one of the most crowded resorts in the world, and to-day there were races in the new ground. It was not, as we found, so easy to get there. Having the advantage of two experienced guides, our party of four managed to break up into two and to miss each other; one taking the boat at one iron pier, and the other embarking by a different mode of conveyance. But as we were bound to see Coney Island, the Race course being a secondary object, our temporary separation did not prove a source of great annoyance.
The early settlers would indeed have been astonished if they could look round and see what they have brought the quiet place to in these later days. They were Quakers persecuted by the good Christians of New England, who were driven out of Boston as ruthlessly as though they had been malignants and papists of the worst sort. They settled the township of Gravesend about 250 years ago, and amongst the conspicuous settlers occurs the title and name of Lady Deborah Moody, of whom this deponent knows nothing, but wonders how, with such a title, she managed to have influence amongst a Society of Friends.
A ship was built, so the Americans say, of 70 tons in 1699, by the descendants of the Quaker settlers, and less than 100 years later the bold republicans, abandoning the doctrines of peace, engaged and captured an English corvette off the island. It was all along of General How, who landed his troops here and set the people to work on the fortifications he threw up, whether they would or no. A corvette, bound to Halifax, anchored off the island, and an old whaler, who, says the chronicler, must have been smarting under the wrongs he had suffered at the hands of the red-coats, or who possibly regarded the work as he would the capture of a finner or a bottle-nose, imparted to a few trusty friends the idea of "cutting her out." So embarking at night in a couple of boats, they stole down with muffled oars and ran up under the stern of the ship. There was no watch, and through the cabin windows the officers could be seen playing cards. The crews of the boats boarded the corvette simultaneously, seized, overpowered, and bound the officers and men, lowered them into their boats, and, having set the man-of-war on fire, pulled over to the Jersey shore with their prisoners. It is to be hoped that the demeanour and language of the captain have been misrepresented by local tradition; but he is said to have cried bitterly, and to have exclaimed, "To be surprised and captured by two blooming egg-shells is too blasted bad!"
There was a long period of neglect before Fashion and the populace found out the attractions of Coney Island. Fishermen, oyster-catchers, and sportsmen visited the sandy beach from time to time; then after a while a few houses were run up of a very inferior class, and these were frequented by the very worst of the scum of New York, so that it was almost dangerous, and certainly disgusting, to go among them, while the scenes on the beach, to which the present proceedings afford such a contrast, were described as being of the most disgraceful character.
The official directions for spending a day at Coney Island certainly indicate a belief in the possession of enormous physical energy and indefatigable curiosity on the part of the visitors in those who compose the code. Having given you sailing instructions by the iron steam boat to Bay Ridge for the Sea Beach Railway (ticket 35 cents), you are to visit the Sea View Palace Hotel, the Piazza, the two iron piers, the Camera obscura (10 cents), the Great Milking Cow, the top of the observatory (15 cents); then to eat a Rhode Island clam bake (50 cents), visit the aquarium (10 cents), take a park waggon and ride over the Concourse to Brighton; see the hotel grounds and bathing pavilion there; then take the Marine Railway (5 cents) to Manhattan Beach; visit the Oriental Hotel and take the Marine Railway to Point Breeze (10 cents) and return back to Brighton Beach Pavilion and take a bath; then see the Museum of Living Wonders (10 cents), dine at the Hotel Brighton, hear a concert in the evening, and return to New York by 11 o'clock. "This trip," observes the compiler, "may fatigue one, but the excitement soon overcomes the trouble." Coney Island is indeed an institution.
Along the sea front of the bank for some three or four miles there has been constructed an esplanade lined with seats, and defended from the sea by a stone wall. Outside there is a belt of shingle on which the surf breaks, but not violently, unless in bad weather. Large bathing establishments, with every appliance, are placed at convenient intervals along the shore. Here in the season tens of thousands of people may be seen, all properly and decently attired, disporting in the waves. At the time of our visit, the hour and the season of the year seemed not to be favourable to the indulgence. We were too late in the day. It is an early place, and from 7 till 9 A.M. from the month of June to the end of September are described as the orthodox periods. Nevertheless the spectacle was quite unique, and if you can imagine Brighton with half-a-dozen Pavilions blown out to twice their size, and the largest hotels multiplied by ten in length, breadth, and depth, you may fancy what the Coney Island front is, provided always that you can also conjure up (literally) myriads of well-dressed men, women, and children perambulating the esplanade or sitting in the grounds around the various establishments which occupy a large space inland—pavilions, hotels, exhibitions, restaurants, and club-houses. There were fireworks going on in broad day; but these were principally for the purpose of exhibiting very ingenious Japanese figures, which were discharged from bombs, and which gradually descending were objects of eager competition amongst the younger members of the enormous multitude. And with all so much good-humour, so much propriety of demeanour; none of the brutal rushes of "roughs" which disgust one with English popular assemblages—none of the brutal horse-play, and screams, and unmeaning cries of the 'Arrys and the Bills of our popular resorts.
Looking at Mr. Marshall's excellent book on the United States, which we found to be copious and accurate, I was struck by what he says respecting a habit of the people which, according to my experience, has very much decreased since I was last in the States, but which he finds in as full force, and repulsive as ever. I am bound to say I think the habit of spitting has very much diminished, but from numerous evidences, from the presence of spittoons in every room and in the passages of the hotels, and from public admonitions, such as one we saw at some of the theatres, that the audience would not spit upon the stage, I must believe that it still exists. What the cause of this habit may be it is not easy to determine. It cannot be in the race, because it is scarcely an "English" habit. I would be inclined to attribute it to the drinking of iced water, but ladies in America use the national beverage quite as freely as the men, and spitting is a masculine failing. Can it be a result of climate? Scarcely. For in the States, British-born people do not seem to be affected by the influence of the habit in those around them after many years' residence. Smokers and non-smokers alike indulge in the practice, so that tobacco cannot be charged with the disagreeable custom. I assume that it is as common as Mr. Marshall asserts it is, but I am bound to say, according to my own observation and experience on my last visit, that there was no evidence to show that it was common or national. Chewing tobacco also appears to me to have fewer votaries than formerly. A remark to that effect at Richmond brought upon me something like a rebuke from the gentleman to whom I spoke, a Judge of the land. "No, sir," he said, "not at all! I rather think we chew more than ever!" And, to illustrate his faith, he produced a silver box, shaped a plug of no doubt very excellent weed, and thrust it into his mouth. I do not recollect, however, meeting a gentleman in the course of our journey who used tobacco in that way, with that exception.
In the grounds in front of the pavilion, where an excellent orchestra of some one hundred performers were playing, sat a very large and appreciative audience, who applauded with discrimination, and were content with the good performance of each piece.
Our common rendezvous was the Surf Club, one of the numerous convivial associations for which Coney Island seems to be specially adapted; and I presume the name had nothing at all to do with any supposed amusements of the members in connection with the surf on the beach outside. There was some difficulty in finding our way through a labyrinth of rooms all filled with guests: with corridors swarming with people; with vast halls, where at hundreds of tables there were seated people engaged in the consumption of the menu of a Coney Island restaurant, abounding in strange dishes and attended by armies of waiters. At a rough guess, I should say there may have been about 4000 people in the building—and this was but one of several—I think the Brighton Beach Hotel, but of this I am not quite sure.
When the Prospect Park and Coney Island Railroad was opened none believed in its success, but the foresight of the projector was justified; and when it was found that respectable people would go there, if the vagabonds of both sexes and their associates were driven away, the police asserted themselves, and swept off the gamblers and the others of a still more dangerous class, who were to be found there in increasing numbers every year; and then hotels were erected and landing-places made for the steamers; and now the electric light blazes in a hundred halls, and music and rejoicing sound late into the night, contending with the noise of the surf upon the beach. Bowling-alleys, shooting-grounds, archery, croquet, sailing and rowing, all invite some of the visitors, according to their tastes. An amusing exemplification of the ingenuity of American advertisers is afforded by the sailing vessels, which display in enormous characters on their main-sails the names of quack medicines, from which no corner of this continent appears to be safe.
On June 24th the party, which had been somewhat dislocated, reunited their scattered forces, and at 2 P.M. started by train after a little repose, for Newport, R.I. It was a kind of holiday after our travels, but somewhat out of place, for we were told the Ocean House was scarcely ready; but we should not have found it out, had we not been informed of the fact. The newspapers had been on the alert, and soon after the Duke's arrival visitors began to call and invitations to pour in—some well-nigh irresistible, for they included opportunities for experiences of bass-fishing.
June 25th.—Newport has not yet put on its festive attire. It is not the season, and we ought not to be here. Nevertheless it is still so pleasant, and so respectably dull, that one enjoys it amazingly. After breakfast we walked down to the seashore and sat gazing on vacancy, and on three yellow ladies collecting clams. Returning thence in a very hot sun, ran to earth in the hotel where, presently, there were many visitors; and how kind and anxious to please they were! Mr. Fearing drove up later on the top of a drag, and whirled us away to a charming fishing-box on the shore, in order to judge for ourselves what bass-fishing was like. It was a very pretty drive, and Mr. Fearing handled his "four" as if he were bent on joining the Coaching Club—not indiscreetly, as the horses were not accustomed to going together, but with satisfactory decision—and we all were landed without mishap by the side of the road, close to one of the best-organised sporting-boxes I have ever seen, built entirely for the comfort and delectation of Mr. Fearing and two or three friends who own the bass-fishing stands, at the end of one of which a gentleman was then busily engaged in his pastime, for the sea comes rolling up upon the rocks within some forty or fifty yards of the sward of the green meadows on which the house is placed. From it projects into the breakers a platform supported on iron pillars, at the end of which there is an enlargement of the structure to enable the fisherman and his attendants to stand at their ease—the one in hurling the bait and the other in preparing it. And first, as a proof that the labour is not futile, there was exhibited a terrible-headed monster with great scales, which had been caught that morning by Mr. Whipple—a bass of 57 lbs. weight, of which I think the skull and jaws and gills must have weighed a third. The fishing is not, as I found, to be done at once, but needs a little practice. The art of casting consists in the double operation of jerking the bait from the top of a stiff rod, and checking the run of the line without permitting it to overrun, which it is very apt to do in an inexperienced hand, by a pressure of the thumb on the reel, just sufficient to let the weight of the bait carry out the hook to the farthest stretch of the jerk. The rod, not more than eight or nine feet long, a work of great art, and costly, is furnished with a reel, also very expensive, containing a couple of hundred yards of prepared line. At the end is a large single hook, sometimes secured to a piece of piano-wire, as the "blue fish" will cut through the strongest cord or gut. To this is fixed a junk of fat oily fish, of which supplies are kept in a basket close at hand, to be cut up for ever and ever by the attendant, and ever and anon pieces are chucked into the sea, and being of a very unctuous nature, the oil rising to the top, floats away on the surface of the water, and attracts the bass within measurable distance of the platform. Captain Fearing threw, Mr. Whipple threw, and the gentlemen at the end of another pier emulated them, and pounds, perhaps stones, of bait were thrown into the sea, but the bass, which are capricious, like most fish, were not to be caught; and so after a time we returned to the cottage.
I was, unfortunately, unable to accept an invitation from one of the many hospitable gentlemen in Newport, to go out and spend the evening on a desolate island, where they are said generally to have exceedingly good sport, in order to get up before sunrise the following morning and essay my skill, or want of it, in bass-fishing. Mr. Wright, an enthusiastic sportsman, availed himself of a like invitation with great pleasure and with many anticipations of delight, but on Monday morning he returned weather-beaten back, and boot-less and bass-less home, although he assured me he enjoyed himself very much, and had very agreeable company out at sea on the rock.
The following day (June 26th) was cloudy and cool, and all that was of rank and fashion in Newport went to All Souls Church. There are many churches in Newport, and in the height of the season, each is, I am told, well filled on Sundays. And wonderful it is that there is neither dissension nor controversy among the congregations. They mingle together coming and going, affording to me, who have been accustomed at times to observe the manners and customs of my country men and women on like occasions in Ireland and elsewhere, ground for wonder, not unintermingled with an ardent desire that we, nearer home, could learn the secret of this moderation.
Mr. Bridgman, our fellow-passenger in the "Gallia," is enjoying his villeggiatura with his wife and family in a pretty little cottage. We were very much pleased indeed to renew our acquaintance with him, although there was no scope for the display of his fine talents as a salad-maker. It was not foggy enough for the ladies, who delight in a thick and moist brume from the Banks, and who sit at the open windows when it comes on for the sake of their complexions, as it is esteemed a sovereign cosmetic beyond Maydew or Kalydor. Whether it be rightly credited with these virtues or not, I can answer for the presence of many fair ladies in church, and on their way to and fro in the streets. We dined with Mr. and Mrs. Keene, who reside in one of the best villas of the many charming dwellings in Newport.
The victories of the American horses in France and England created an enthusiasm in the States almost as intense as though they had been won by the national fleets or armies. From one end of the Union to the other the news was flashed the same day, and we saw the names of the conquerors in large letters in every newspaper. Unfortunately there came at the same time reports of foul play to American competitors at the hands of some English roughs, and there was a good deal of heat caused by the objections taken to the entry of the "Cornell Crew" at Henley. These international contests should be very carefully conducted and judiciously worked, or they will do more harm than good, if indeed they do any good at all. The injurious insinuations respecting the age of Foxhall could but excite indignation in the minds of honourable men against whom they were directed.
There is a State House in the town, and there is also a mansion occupied by Commodore Perry, but the most useful inhabitant of the place appears to have been one Abraham Touro, a Jew, who gave his name to the park, a cemetery, a synagogue, and a street. Altogether there is rather an old-world air and look in the town; but one must go along the Avenues to have an idea of the charms which lead so many of the principal families of the Eastern States to make the place a resort when they are not enjoying the delights of travel in Europe, or that blissful existence which endears Paris to our Transatlantic relatives. Bellevue Avenue is bordered by a number of very sprightly dwellings, of every order and disorder of architecture, and rejoicing in all the extraordinary richness and elaboration of American workmanship in wood, each standing in a little park of its own, generally rich with trees, shrubs, and an ornamental garden. Several of these interiors, as we had reason to know, were furnished in the very best taste, and filled with objects of art, excellent examples of good masters, principally foreign, and articles imported from all the corners of the globe. Of an afternoon the ladies might be seen driving, in very well turned-out carriages, to some rendezvous where lawn-tennis or a picnic awaited them; and altogether, even at this time of year, Newport presented a picture of great refinement and comfort, which enable the visitor to understand how attractive it must be in the height of the season, and why it is Americans are so fond of life in Rhode Island.
I am not in a position to throw the smallest doubt upon the statement that the mass of stones in the form of a tower, ivy and moss covered, and evidently the work of human hands, was not built by the hardy Norsemen hundreds of years before the arrival of Columbus. There are, moreover, people who declare that the erection is due to a British governor of the colony, when it was more prosperous as a commercial resort, though not so fashionable as it is at present. But American antiquaries take a great pleasure in propping up the proofs which have been adduced of Scandinavian enterprise and discovery on the continent, many centuries before Vespuccius, Columbus, and the English navigators lived.
We dined on the evening of the 27th at the house of Mr. Shattock, a gentleman of New York, who had assembled a party of very pleasant people to meet the Duke, and kindly hastened his dinner-hour to suit our convenience, as we were obliged to go on board the Fall River boat, which called at 9.30 P.M. to take up passengers for the Empire City. There was some difficulty about getting cabins or state rooms as they are called, but "Uncle Sam," who came from New York to consort with us quietly, applied himself diligently to telegraph wires, telephones, and the like, and when the great steamer came alongside the wharf our dormitories were ready. The night was calm and fine. There was an excellent band, quite worthy of being called an orchestra, on board, which played to the delight of a large audience till it was bed-time. As a "sight" for a foreigner, nothing could be more striking than the vast saloon, brilliantly illuminated, with hundreds of people on sofas, chairs, and benches, reading or conversing in the intervals of the music, and presenting infinite varieties of type and class, yet all so orderly and well-behaved; and if you moved quietly through the crowd, your ear caught many strange languages interpolating the American speech—German, French, Polish, Russian, Italian, and, perhaps the natives would say, British. There is some care observed in the locking up of cabins, and I believe there are detectives and police on board the boats; but it is said they do not look after the morals of the passengers, and concern themselves only with vested interests in portable property. There was no sea on, and the only motion was caused by the beating of the paddles and the throbbing of the engine, and early in the morning of the next day we were at our quarters in our comfortable hotel in the Fifth Avenue.
June 29th.—And yet more excursions. Bound by a long-standing engagement, a small detachment of our party set out this evening to visit Mr. Barlow at his country place, Long Island, which travellers, perhaps, have not much occasion to see. The Mayor of New York (Mr. Grace) and Mr. O'Gorman were on the steamer which took the Duke, Mr. S. Ward, Mr. Hurlbut, and our host down the Sound, and were introduced to us by Mr. Barlow. The first-named gentleman I mentioned in one of the early pages of this diary in connection with the vigorous efforts to purify the civic atmosphere made by him on his accession to office. I learn that he has since obtained a large measure of success, and let me hope corresponding thanks from his fellow-citizens. Attacks on corrupt influences are apt to receive lukewarm support from the politicians. The power of the respectable classes, which hold aloof from politics, is not large. Mr. Grace had more opposition than help from his own countrymen, who have been long nearly omnipotent in New York, and who monopolise a large proportion of the civic offices and employment. Mr. O'Gorman, one of the traversers with O'Connell in the famous State trials, is one of the leading lawyers of New York, and is held in much respect by his fellow-citizens. The "old Country" is still dear to him, but I seemed to gather from his remarks that he shared in the distrust which American lawyers generally expressed respecting the principle of the Land Bill then under discussion as far as interference with the law of contract—"the very foundation of social life"—was involved. Glen Cove is a beautiful place, standing high above the level of the sea, and commanding charming views of the sound and of the opposite shore. It is surrounded by trees, ornamented by woodland and fine natural groves, broken up by ravines, through which trickle streams of water. The mansion is furnished with every comfort and luxury, and we had a garden to saunter about in the morning, and a genial hostess to talk to, and her fair daughter to sing for us, so that it would have pleased us well to have made a longer sojourn at Glen Cove. Here we passed two very peaceful days, part of Wednesday and Thursday, and in a pleasant drive with our host in the early morning had some slight outlook on umbrageous Long Island. "O! si angulus iste!" It is 115 miles long and 14 miles broad, and quite big enough for me! And there be deer in the woods and trout in the rivers, and fish in all the creeks, and game in the wooded lagoons, and forest, lake, and civilised life, and many things to please the eye; and then the comet was so good as to display his glories and his tail before Glen Cove. But our time of departure from the States was drawing near, and there were still things to be done in New York, and many engagements to be kept, ere we started on our homeward journey on July 2nd; and at 12.35 on the 30th June the Duke and I took the "cars" at a rural station, and reached New York at 2.35, in time for a run through Tiffany's and some little shopping and visiting. There was a dinner arranged by "Uncle Sam" at "Sutherland's" in honour of the famous city restaurant. The house is one of a type which has, I believe, disappeared in the "City," where once flourished famous establishments such as Williams' Beef Shop in the Old Bailey, Dolly's in Paternoster Row, the Billingsgate Fish Ordinary, Jacquet's, &c., like it in character. Great New Yorkers do not disdain to cross the threshold, within which they find admirable fare and excellent wines—the national delights of clam chowder, clam soup, soft-shell crabs, and many other Transatlantic delicacies—at the far end of Broadway, still holding its own against the fashionable restaurants. Of the party who dined there with Chancellor Robertson and others in 1861, only "Uncle Sam," Mr. S. Barlow, and I survive; but the host, a granitic sort of man, with a kindly Scottish heart warming the case inside, seems capable of presiding over his feasts for another generation.
July 1st.—It was difficult to realise the idea that this was our last day in America, but the truth was forced on us by the practical duties of getting the baggage ready and settling up generally, ending with a dinner at the Turf Club, where we met Mr. Keene, of Foxhall fame, who had also entertained us at Newport, Mr. Jerome, Mr. Stuart, Mr. Travers, and other fathers of the New York sporting world, which seems very like our own, and had to drink madeira of all but fabulous antiquity and excellence.