Part 8

That this is the history of thousands, even in our own favored country, is undeniable; and if we cast our eyes over the vast continent of Europe, what find we but toil and wretchedness, unknown in our western world? Were those who sigh and lament over the miseries of slaves, to bestow a little of their superfluous sympathy on the owners of slaves, it would be exceedingly better appropriated. They need it more than their dependants, who are not only eye-servants, but seemingly wilfully stupid. That they are less intelligent and more brutish than many of the inferior animals, is a lamentable fact; and that the circumstances in which they have been placed, is one cause of this stupidity, is no less a fact; but that they can ever attain to the intelligence of whites, I am not inclined to admit. Nature, habit, opinion, have drawn lines of separation, which can never be totally removed. It was remarked in the presence of a French gentleman, who had spent some years in South America, that the greatest prejudice existing in the minds of whites against blacks was their color. 'Non, non,' he exclaimed with warmth; 'ce n'est pas seulement leur couleur; d'autres sens outre celui de la vue sont offensés.' And truly, place a person at a southern tea-table, with the thermometer above 90°, and two or three black waiters in attendance, with a half grown negro at his elbow, wielding a huge feather fan, and unless his olfactories were more than ordinarily obtuse, he would essay in vain to repeat with the tender Sappho, 'Come, gentle air!' That they are susceptible of culture, to a certain extent, is correct; and that many of them possess what is termed mother wit, I had daily opportunities of observing. This species of humor is most frequently shown in the composition of their songs, more particularly in their boat songs; in which I have known the whole family receive sly thrusts from their negroes, while being rowed by them, and which seldom failed in eliciting good-natured mirth. Music is the life and soul of a southern negro: he does every thing, but eat and sleep, with a tune.

Their organization seems to have been expressly adapted to the climate in which they were to live. The hotter the weather, the better it suits them; and when exposure would be fatal to whites, a negro enjoys the best health. A boat with three hands was sent for me, in the month of July, to visit a planter who was taken suddenly ill. We left my residence at ten in the morning, of one of the hottest days I have ever experienced. The atmosphere was nearly suffocating, without the _slightest_ breath of air. The negroes were clad in duck trowsers, and a shirt of the same material, with an apology for a hat on the head of each. After rowing several miles, one took off his hat, then another, and opened his collar; presently the third threw down his, protesting it was too hot to wear a hat. I carried with me a small pocket-thermometer, which I consulted, and it stood at 103°, Fahrenheit, and I am confident that a white person, to have been guilty of the same imprudence, would have fallen under _coup de soleil_. I wore a large chip hat, and held an umbrella above my head; yet when we reached the distance, which was fifteen miles, my face and hands were in a light blister. The case to which I was called was one of extreme urgency, and for which my presence was required several days.

The evening before I left, I had the satisfaction of witnessing a negro marriage, which had been delayed a day or two, in consequence of the illness of their master. The groom was a fine young man, about twenty; the bride was free, though the daughter of a slave. Children always belong to the mother: hence if a slave marries a free woman, their children are free, and _vice versa_. A tutor in the family performed the ceremony, by reading our church service, the oldest daughter of their master and myself being present. I believe this wedding was something extraordinary, from the importance the blacks seemed to feel on the occasion; and it certainly surpassed many white weddings I have known. The bride was dressed in white, and after the ceremony, wine was passed round, with very respectable wedding-cake, and slices of cold venison. These were of course furnished by the parties themselves; and the kitchen was the place of rendezvous, which was crowded with all the slaves on the plantation; and being Saturday night, their mirth sounded in our ears till midnight. The next morning I accompanied my companions of the preceding night to the negro quarter, about a quarter of a mile distant from the house, where they were assembled according to custom. A chapter from the New Testament was read to them, and the catechism taught to the children. The father of the bride was a preacher, and on Sunday evenings he usually held forth to his fellow servants. As I departed in the afternoon, he was prevailed on to give his usual evening sermon that morning. It was a curious medley, I must confess; and he wound up his discourse, by urging his hearers to become religious, in order to get to heaven; and by way of encouragement to their color, affirmed, that a great many _indecent_ people were already in heaven.

And now, what shall be said of the licentiousness which exists in the South? Shall we attempt to palliate the fact? Most assuredly no. That there are children born on plantations, who are very nearly white, and of whose paternity there can be no doubt, is no less a fact; and this always appeared to me as one of the most disagreeable features in slavery. I have known a few instances in which a favorite slave kept pace with her mistress in increasing the family stock, if not the name. These children are usually employed as house-servants as they grow up; and the mistress, though perfectly aware of the relationship, generally regards them with peculiar kindness and care. Great pains are usually taken by the mother to let these unfortunates know to whom they are indebted for existence; and whether this knowledge renders them more faithful to the interests of the family, or from whatever cause it may be, they are the best servants, and the most attached, that I have ever seen. These practises are the productive source of much domestic unhappiness. It is not to be supposed that a wife can regard her sable rival with other feelings than those of deep aversion and dislike; without the power to banish such from her daily sight. Negroes themselves, the men particularly, look with no very pleasant eye on such liaisons. A circumstance was related to me by one of them, which had excited in his breast much indignation. 'Do you think such things are right, massa?' he asked, at the conclusion. I assured the honest fellow of my deep disapprobation of such wickedness, which seemed to afford him much satisfaction.

While I state that such practices do exist, let it not be understood that I extend these connections to all planters, or even to the greater number of them. Such an accusation would be destitute of either truth or justice. That they exist at all, however, is at variance with every principle of morality, and for which let not the shadow of an excuse ever be made. Yet turn we to other portions of civilized society, and what do we behold? Vice is vice, wherever it is found; and let not the haughty man of fashion, who spends his hundreds upon an unworthy mistress, or the systematic seducer of female innocence, from whose fatal snares neither virgin purity, nor the holiness of the marriage tie are exempt, let them not, I say, join their polluted voices in the general cry of the monstrous depravity and licentiousness of the South. First pull the beam from the eye of self, and then turn we to convince our neighbor of the mote that obscures his moral vision.

Though an enemy to slavery, I would have the true friends of the blacks pursue a course that will tend to their lasting advantage. There is no great urgency, on their own accounts, that abolition should be immediate; and I do not hesitate to pronounce the sympathy false and perverted, which dwells on the miseries of their situation. If we except the lot itself, their condition is far better than it would be were they freed; and infinitely better than that of our city blacks, or even many of our laboring whites. That their being slaves is a sufficient cause for discontent, I admit, did they consider it so. The mass, however, know and think nothing about it. They recollect nothing else, and therefore the loss of liberty is scarcely a deprivation. Servitude of any sort is a grievous yoke; it is hard to be poor; yet none but visionaries ever indulge in the Utopian scheme of a perfect happiness. That slavery is an evil, that it is a great and a growing evil, none who think at all on the subject can deny; slave-holders themselves are well convinced of this truth, and many of them would rejoice to have the evil removed, could proper means be devised, independently of robbing them of their lawful property. They cannot consent to make themselves and their children beggars, which would be the case, were slavery immediately abolished; for without a sufficient force to work their land, it is worth nothing. My own opinion coincides with that of Paley: 'The emancipation of slaves should be gradual, and be carried on by provisions of law, and under the protection of civil government. Christianity can only operate as an alternative. By the mild diffusion of its light and influence, the minds of men are insensibly prepared to perceive and correct the enormities which folly, or wickedness, or accident, have introduced into their public establishments. In this way, the Greek and Roman slavery, and since these, the feudal tyranny, has declined before it. And we trust that, as the knowledge and authority of the same religion advance in the world, they will banish what remains of this odious institution.' This opinion, I am aware, does not accord with the schemes of the reformers of the present age. They wish to reap the reward of their exertions in their own day; no matter what individual loss or suffering it may occasion to whites; no matter what injury accrues to a million and a half of ignorant, improvident blacks, let loose upon society without a motive, a principle to guide them, or a desire above the fulfilment of their animal wants. 'The world is wrong, all wrong!' cries out an hundred reformers. That it is mad, on certain subjects, I verily believe. One sect announce that their own peculiar religious tenets will alone make man happy here, and wise unto salvation, and denounce the rest of the world as lost, and that their teachers knowingly delude their followers. Another party are so zealous in the cause of temperance, that they are the most intemperate fanatics out of bedlam. Others, again, oppose the march of Catholicism, and their cry is, 'Popery! popery!--our country will become priest-ridden; we must put down popery, at whatever cost.' But by far the greater number are weeping over the sorrows, not of Werter, but of the 'poor blacks,' who are fostered, fed, and kindly treated, in return for their services. Thus wags the world; each man has his hobby, in riding which, it would be well for him not to trample on the rights of his neighbor.

THE TIMES.

'THE times! the times!'--the burden of that sound Falls ever on my ear, most dismally; And as from rock to hill its echoes bound, I ask my heart, 'And can it truly be, That 'Providence, which oft afflicts the just,' Has fore-ordain'd that all the banks should _bu'st_?'

'The times! the times!'--the cry of terror goes From field to field, o'er mountain, vale, and glen, And in a thousand anguish'd accents flows From half the 'doubting, doting' sons of men; While they are joined the cadence of the hymn in, By half the girls, and all of the old women.

Though these be days of steam-revolving pistons, And labor-saving tools, of every kind, Yet do we moderns slay our own Philistines, Much in the manner you may call to mind Of him of yore, who, neither weak nor lazy, Abstracted, one dark night, the gate of Gaza.

Yea, prophets prophecy, and dreamers dream, While stupid men look on in wild derision, Nor things of sober earnestness they deem The workings of each cabalistic vision, Which tells the causes of the things that ail 'em, As clearly as the ass explained to Balaam.

''Tis for your sins!'--as Pollux link'd with Castor Is ever seen, so guilt with punishment; Each mortal sin provokes a fresh bank 'plaster,' Precisely at the rate of cent per cent. Oh! deeds of crime, at which the bosom sickens. Ye've hatch'd indeed a pretty brood of chickens!

'Twas not for nought we made the Indians shank it, Far to the westward of the Mountains Rocky; While a tobacco-pipe, and three-point blanket Was all the guerdon of each hapless jockey: Fancy the march in dioramic views, Ye who have seen the 'Exit of the Jews!'

The negroes! Hold we not this seed of Ham's In durance, equally inhuman, fully, To that which brought old Pharaoh to the clams? And why? Because their occiputs are woolly; Their lips are thick; their cheeks display no roses: And then, to cap the climax, oh! what noses!

And meanwhile, drunkenness, on every hand, Hath rear'd her gilded shrines, and never rested; Till now, within the borders of the land, The only _draughts_ that don't come back 'protested,' But currently are taken, till the stock fails, Are alcoholic potions, christen'd 'cock-tails.'

And thus, while crime hath spread with stride portentous, Pray is it strange that evil o'er us lingers? That 'lots' of retribution have been sent us; And blessing (in disguise!) slip through our fingers; While ever and anon bursts some new bubble, To throw us neck and heels again in trouble?

My country! thou art sick, and very bilious, From feeding high, and working very little, Whereby thou hast become quite supercilious, And, through the passing richness of thy victual, 'Wax'd fat, like Jeshurun,' that noted kicker, In token of his wholesome meat and liquor.

The sickness hath no bounds; alack! there bobs not A head, the holder of a limb unruly, Betwixt Ponchartrain and the fair Penobscot, That hath not told the tale of terror duly To scores of friends, in sympathizing masses; Like him of Uz who own'd the sheep and asses.

And I, like 'Eliphaz the Temanite,' Would merely say, that on this mundane globe, 'As sparks tend ever upward in their flight,' (A fact familiar both to him and Job,) 'So man is born to misery' of some sort, And this was all the hapless patriarch's comfort.

But as the hand of Time healed all his woes, And raised another batch of pigs and asses, So will its kindly influence interpose, With crops of rice, tobacco, and molasses, To dry thy tears, to bid thy murmurs cease, And bring again the days of palmy peace!

_Wilmington, (Del.,) September, 1837._

RANDOM PASSAGES

FROM ROUGH NOTES OF A VISIT TO ENGLAND, SCOTLAND, FRANCE, SWITZERLAND, AND GERMANY.

NUMBER FIVE.

PARIS, (CONCLUDED)--SWITZERLAND.

I HAVE marvelled at nothing more, in Paris, than the rarity of female beauty. I have been in the Boulevards, and other fashionable resorts, at fashionable hours, many a time and oft; but I do not recollect having seen a single French woman decidedly pretty. In some of the galleries, I observed occasionally a lady who might be called so, but they always proved to be English. It seemed more singular, as the prevalent notions of Paris with us led me to expect a brilliant display 'in this line.' But if the French damsels are deficient in personal attractions, they certainly are not in graceful and fascinating manners; and this remark will apply almost equally to the peasant girl and the queen. The style of dress of the Parisian ladies seemed to me very neat, simple, and tasteful, and certainly much less _showy_ than that of the belles of Gotham, who, it must be owned, are apt to be somewhat _ultra_ in the _extremes_ of foreign fashions. There is sound policy, no doubt, in the practice of employing young women as clerks in the shops; they certainly have an irresistible way of recommending their wares, charming you by their ineffable sweetness and apparent naïveté, while they draw as liberally as possible on your purse.

They have a queer way of naming, or _dedicating_ their shops; such as 'à la belles, Anglaise,' 'à la ville de New-York,' etc. In many of them there is a notification that the prices are _fixed_ and unchangeable; but I understand they generally take care that the _Anglaise_, (who seem to be proverbial as a wealthy nation,) shall pay a suitable advance. '_Combien?_' proves to be a very useful word, and answers just as well as '_Quel est le prix?_' The bill of fare at the restaurants is quite a curiosity. You may have, in the medium establishments, an excellent dinner for twenty-five or thirty cents, including two or three 'plates,' and a choice from nearly one hundred and fifty, beside the dessert and the _vin ordinaire_. Omnibuses originated in Paris; and they are now very abundant, convenient, and cheap. You may ride from the Gobelins to Mont Mâitre, about four miles, for six sous; and if you wish to stop on the way, they will give you, gratis, a _correspondence-ticket_ to proceed. They are regulated by government, and taxed and licensed for so many passengers.

While admiring the palaces and public buildings in Paris, one cannot but be surprised that the meanest huts should be permitted to remain in their immediate neighborhood, as at the Louvre, Tuilleries, Luxembourg, and the palace of the Institute, where bits of book-stalls and shoe-makers' shops are placed against the very walls of those stately edifices.

An American, of course, notices as something strange, the _military_ government, which is every where so apparent. Wherever you go, in public buildings, in the parks, or in the streets, you are always sure to meet soldiers, policemen, or 'secret service' spies. The members of the 'National Guards' are, (apparently for a politic purpose,) interspersed among the 'troops of the line,' or standing army. The National Guards are citizen volunteers, who serve by turns a certain length of time. Their whole number is about two hundred and fifty thousand, and hence their immense importance to the government.

Paris affords an inexhaustible fund of topics for the travelling letter-writer, but I must recollect that it _has_ been spoken of, _occasionally_, before. Let me remind you again, my dear ----, that these rough memorandums are made almost literally 'on the gallop,' by a _business_ youth, and they are not intended to edify any one but yourself.[3]

* * * * *

GENEVA, (SWITZERLAND,) AUGUST 19, 1836.--Yes, it is even so! After a rather tedious journey of three days and four nights from Paris, I find myself in Switzerland; in Geneva, looking out upon Lake Leman by moonlight, on a lovely summer evening.

To retrace: At four P. M., on the 14th, I seated myself in the diligence for Lyons. One of my companions was a very _nice_ and pretty young lady, who proved to be Paulina Celeste, a Signorina of Milan, returning with her mother from an engagement at the Italian Opera, in London. She was quite intelligent, but could not speak a word of English, except 'very warm,' (and indeed it was;) but I managed to amuse myself, if not her, in some funny attempts at conversation in French.

We rode out of Paris over Pont Neuf, passing Notre Dame and the Jardin des Plants, and proceeded by a dull and level road, (leaving Fountainbleau and St. Dennis on either side,) along the banks of the Yonne to Villeneuve, Pont-sur-Yonne, Sens, Joigny, etc., without any remarkable incident, except that I had the pleasure of being left behind at one of the stopping places, at eleven o'clock at night. The conducteurs, when they have taken your money for the whole route, care very little whether you proceed or not; and I was indebted to a long hill for detaining the diligence till I overtook it, after a _hot_ chase of a couple of miles. The next morning at eleven o'clock we were graciously allowed time to break our fasts of twenty-seven hours; and a very ordinary _dejéuner_ was despatched, as you may imagine, with considerable zeal.

Nearly two-thirds of the journey is through corn-fields and vineyards, affording no fine scenery, but entering a score of petty villages, made up of the most uncouth and wretched huts imaginable. The only places worth mentioning, were Auxerre, an ancient town, fortified by the Romans; Autun, which we entered under a Roman arch or barrier; Metun, Avallon, Ville-Franche, and Chalons-sur-Soane, which latter is quite a pretty place, in a fine situation on the banks of the Soane. We dined there on poulet, pigeon, potage, melon, bits of lobsters, two inches long, and a variety of dishes so disguised as to be nameless; with fresh prunes, pears, and grapes for a dessert. Delicious fresh prunes and grapes may be had here almost for the taking, but apples, pears, and melons, are scarce and dear.

At eight A. M., on the 17th, we entered Lyons, the second city in the kingdom, celebrated for its silk and other manufactories. A great portion of all the French finery which you wear, comes from Lyons. This city is built between the Rhone and the Soane, which are here about an eighth of a mile apart, and both very rapid; so there are abundant facilities for water-power machinery. The bridges and quays are of stone, and are very handsome. Lofty heights, surmounted with fortifications, flank the city on either side, and give it an air of strength and importance. Eagerly looking forward to Italy, there was little to detain me here. I was disappointed, however, in not finding any conversible travellers here, on their way to the 'sunny land;' and ten minutes were allowed me to decide whether I would go alone to Marseilles, and take the steam-boat for Genoa and Naples, in the face of the cholera, and at the risk of horrible quarantines; or turn off to Geneva, with the chance of finding a companion across the Simplon. The _safer_ alternative was adopted; and taking leave of the pretty _danseuse_, with a promise to call on her at Milan, I mounted the banquette, and had another uncomfortable night-ride.[4]

The next morning, however, was beautiful, and we already began to have a taste for Swiss scenery, which appears to extend forty or fifty miles into France. The remainder of the journey was over long hills and dales; and we walked a considerable portion of it, enjoying occasionally a noble view of rough mountains and green valleys. At every hamlet and village, our passports were examined by epauletted officers. Near the frontiers of Switzerland, the Rhone comes tumbling down between two steep and lofty hills; those referred to, probably, by 'Childe Harold:'

'Where the swift Rhone cleaves his way between Heights which appear like lovers who have parted In haste--whose mining depths so intervene That they can meet no more, though broken-hearted.'