Custis, have put their heads into the fire than disobey her slightest injunction. After the victory of Yorktown —when Gen. A vast excitement prevailed in the county and town to see. He was the throbbing pulse of every man's heart. In the midst of this his mother remained in her room spinning worsted, saying, "It was George's duty to come and see her:" which he soon did-not at the head of his officers, but privately —sending his sister, Mrs. Lewis, to know whether she was ready to see him; and, after the first greeting was over, she looked at him, and merely said: "Time and hard service, George, have very much changed your appearance.
When La Fayette had exhausted panegyric in favor of her son, in a set speech to her, she merely replied: "My dear marquis, I am not surprised. George was a good boy.
The British troops ascending the Potomac, sent him a civil message, requesting to buy some fresh provisions; which he sent on board, without, however, taking payment. For this he was censured by the general, who said, "The example was bad; that the British should have been forced to come and take the provisions. The great cities of Baltimore, Philadelphia, and New York, though each has a distinct physiognomy, yet apart from their business facilities, present but few attractions to the mere tourist.
Our Anlerican cities are as yet lacking in this sort of interest. Their historical associations are too recent to be interesting. The traveler catches the spirit of the population —feels impelled irresistibly onward —and feels but little disposition to linger calmly over past or present.
America is hurrying on to its future.
The hearts. We are the fastest people on all the records of time. There is no time to muse on the days of departed glory. We are the actors, the workers of the great Present. Acquisitive, accumulative and ardent, with redundant life, and a continent to be conquered, that had slept too long, we look not back over the "things that were," but grasp our future, and the mighty grave alone can still the restless hearts agitating through our lives. But the quiet sleepers of the "Old Trinity," who have lain down to rest by the side of the busy thoroughfare over which their past life walked, lie and sleep on unheeded by the living who tread beside them, enacting the same twice-told tale of joys, loves, cares, strifes-soon to sleep themselves and give place to other dreamers.
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Sayeth the French proverb, and truly: "Life is a dream, of which Death is the awakening. The self-satisfied and intensely self-appreciating I. Beecher, preaches here to vast crowds. He is a plausible, youthful-looking personage, who appears to be on good terms with himself. It has been remarked that those who are without passions are without talents. He has politics in his head, and in his heart a worldly, utilizing something which he thinks is religion. Men of his stamp are always wrong, especially in matters of religion, which have to be received, and not improved, revised and amended; and these irreverential men take the Bible as they make it, and like the.
Their minds being unballasted, the possession of a prominent idea enslaves their intellect, and comet-like, the stars must do it reverence as it passes —though when investigated, it is found to be empty, gaseous, and a mere transparent tail. The egregious Greeley, one of the notabilities of NewYork, is another instance of coarse success without respectability and without genius — one of the men who have achieved success by mere low, dogged devotion to the world, and concentrated self-interiest.
The success of such men is ephemeral; that of true genius is undying, and gathers lustre with age. If it were better to be wrong with Plato than right with. The lowest kind of success is money success; the next lowest is popularity with a party. We assimilate to what we work for. As nothing is more delightful than a new, feeling, how refreshing, how luxurious it would be to Greeley to indulge himself with a little honesty and patriotism, or for Beecher to be pious and acquaint himself a little with Christianity i these being things that do not necessarily come as parts of any pursuits, but require to be made distinct objects.
But perhaps this suffices for the gaseous Greeley and the bombastic Beecher. But we are off at last —this day, Wednesday, July 1st, at twelve o'clock —in our ship. The day is most peculiarly dreary, drizzling, disheartening. We step aboard the bark to which we commit our fortunes for some weeks; we are towed down New York bay by a steamer some eighteen miles to Sandy Hook, and there we are left; the winds having "no west" in them, as the captain remarks. Obstinate east winds prevail —rain, cold, dreariness, dullness, of course.
We lie at anchor here all night-next day —night —next day also —weather continuing dismal. What resource but to bear it and be sea-sick! We indulge in the latter duly. Our captain very sociably, however, makes efforts to relieve the tedium, but in vain. Our cabin passengers consist of but four persons —two young men, one from Massachusetts, another from New York, our friend, and ourself.
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We selected a sailing vessel, because we wished to take a regular old-fashioned sea-voyage, and get as much of the sea into us as possible. Our destination is Havre. But five miles more remain and we shall be on the sea, the open sea, and the last hill of our native land will have faded into thin air. Life will go on with them as with us; and if in the dubious future we meet again, we shall not be what we were. We may overtake our future, but our past never.
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How the joys of quiet firesides in the olden, with friends now perished, flit before our mind, and mock the chase of phantom happiness in the future. But life must on. Around us groan the sad waves; afar in the distance lie the lowlands of Long Island; those of the Jersey shore higher; and on the restless waters float many vessels, some large, others small, waiting for the winds "to get out," all sails furled, all at anchor, and the rain, the dreary rain, over all. What a fine opening for the Steam Power to wake these black hulls into life and motion! But we are in the care of old Xolus and his winds, older by far than that creature of a.
This morning, Sunday, July 5th, all that was visible of America has sunk beneath the western horizon. Adieu then to our native land for months-perhaps forever. Yesterday was the natal day of our government, and our native land disappeared to us in the dim shades of evening; the highlands of Neversink, New Jersey, with the white towers and lighthouses, and green woods, gradually lessening and lowering.
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But the rockets ascending in honor of the day from New York city, and the various hotels on Long Island and Long Branch, still rose high in the air, and were the last signals of the fair, proud and happy land beneath. July 2d and 3d, we remained in Sandy Hook harbor-easterly winds, directly ahead, preventing our egress to the open sea. Saturday morning, July 4th, the wind slightly changing, our captain attempted to go out; but failing, the timely aid of a steam tow-boat at length drew us into the open sea. Many vessels had come down from New York, and with all sails set, stretched out to the seaward.
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Soon after, a calm came down on the sea, and for several hours slight progress was made, and up to this morning, July 5th, our progress is slow. The sea is smooth as a mirror, and only swells and heaves underneath the hazy horizon as if seeking rest. A fleet of vessels is around us at various distances-some near enough to hear them striking the bells to chase the hours —others afar off, dipping beneath the horizon, apparently motionless, their white sails reflecting the sunlight.
To our left, on "Old Long Island's sea-girt shore," can yet be heard the breakers -the sound cominog over the smooth sea, like "the noise of many waters. Those cheerful little birds, Mother Carey's chickens, come playfully around, in considerable numbers, resting lightly on the water; they C. Our passengers are all diversely employed —one is reading a Fecent novel, another looking miscellaneously over space, another is about to try fishing, as he says, "only to raise a breeze"; others yawning; another, who has an inquiring mind, wants information in regard to the various parts of the vessel.
One is wishing he could take an excursion out into the woods; vain hope! But toward evening a light wind sprang up, and we are now going "over the waters away and away.
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The sea heaves and sighs like a living thing underneath us; but we go on to our destiny and our future. Some days have passed away. It is now Sunday, July 12th. The writer had the unpleasant necessity laid on him of sustaining in its worst form that distressing sickness, MAil lde met. This complaint seems to consist mainly in an accumulation of bile upon the stomach, arising from a perversion of the ordinary centre of gravity in the system, occasioned by the motion of the vessel. There is perhaps no remedy for it but simply to endure it till the system can habituate itself to the new laws of motion around it.
Keeping the bowels relaxed, and taking doses of Seidlitz powders, and also abstinence, will greatly mitigate it. We have had favorable and pleasant winds for some days, and have gone over nearly a third part of our course, or one thousand miles; and we are now, this pleasant, sunny day, gliding over the Banks of Newfoundland, with several fishing vessels of different nations in sight, engaged il.
Whales also appear to be numerous here, perhaps of the smaller kinds, as their spouting, or blowing, is seen almost every time the eye rests attentively on the water for a few monments.