On Friday, a visit to the Navy Yard at Charlestown, in company with the
Naval Officer of Boston, and Cilley. Dined aboard the revenue-cutter
Hamilton. A pretty cabin, finished off with bird's-eye maple and
mahogany; two looking-glasses. Two officers in blue frocks, with a
stripe of lace on each shoulder. Dinner, chowder, fried fish, corned
beef,--claret, afterwards champagne. The waiter tells the Captain of the
cutter that Captain Percival (Commander of the Navy Yard) is sitting on
the deck of the anchor boy (which lies inside of the cutter), smoking his
cigar. The captain sends him a glass of champagne, and inquires of the
waiter what Percival says to it. "He said, sir, `What does he send me
this damned stuff for?' but drinks, nevertheless." The Captain
characterizes Percival as the roughest old devil that ever was in his
manners, but a kind, good-hearted man at bottom. By and by comes in the
steward. "Captain Percival is coming aboard of you, sir." "Well, ask
him to walk down into the cabin"; and shortly down comes old Captain
Percival, a white-haired, thin-visaged, weather-worn old gentleman, in a
blue, Quaker-cut coat, with tarnished lace and brass buttons, a pair of
drab pantaloons, and brown waistcoat. There was an eccentric expression
in his face, which seemed partly wilful, partly natural. He has not
risen to his present rank in the regular line of the profession; but
entered the navy as a sailing-master, and has all the roughness of that
class of officers. Nevertheless, he knows how to behave and to talk like
a gentleman. Sitting down, and taking in hand a glass of champagne, he
began a lecture on economy, and how well it was that Uncle Sam had a
broad back, being compelled to bear so many burdens as were laid on it,--
alluding to the table covered with wine-bottles. Then he spoke of the
fitting up of the cabin with expensive woods,--of the brooch in Captain
Scott's bosom. Then he proceeded to discourse of politics, taking the
opposite side to Cilley, and arguing with much pertinacity. He seems to
have moulded and shaped himself to his own whims, till a sort of rough
affectation has become thoroughly imbued throughout a kindly nature. He
is full of antique prejudices against the modern fashions of the younger
officers, their mustaches and such fripperies, and prophesies little
better than disgrace in case of another war; owning that the boys would
fight for their country, and die for her, but denying that there are any
officers now like Hull and Stuart, whose exploits, nevertheless, he
greatly depreciated, saying that the Boxer and Enterprise fought the only
equal battle which we won during the war; and that, in that action, an
officer had proposed to haul down the stars and stripes, and a common
sailor threatened to cut him to pieces if he should do so. He spoke of
Bainbridge as a sot and a poltroon, who wanted to run from the
Macedonian, pretending to take her for a line-of-battle ship; of
Commodore Elliot as a liar; but praised Commodore Downes in the highest
terms. Percival seems to be the very pattern of old integrity; taking as
much care of Uncle Sam's interests as if all the money expended were to
come out of his own pocket. This quality was displayed in his resistance
to the demand of a new patent capstan for the revenue-cutter, which,
however, Scott is resolved in such a sailor-like way to get, that he will
probably succeed. Percival spoke to me of how his business in the yard
absorbed him, especially the fitting of the Columbus seventy-four, of
which ship he discoursed with great enthusiasm. He seems to have no
ambition beyond his present duties, perhaps never had any; at any rate,
he now passes his life with a sort of gruff contentedness, grumbling and
growling, yet in good humor enough. He is conscious of his
peculiarities; for when I asked him whether it would be well to make a
naval officer Secretary of the Navy, he said, "God forbid, for that an
old sailor was always full of prejudices and stubborn whim-whams,"
instancing himself; whereto I agreed. We went round the Navy Yard with
Percival and Commodore Downes, the latter a sailor and a gentleman too,
with rather more of the ocean than the drawing-room about him, but
courteous, frank, and good-natured. We looked at ropewalks,
rigging-lofts, ships in the stocks; and saw the sailors of the station
laughing and sporting with great mirth and cheerfulness, which the
Commodore said was much increased at sea. We returned to the wharf at
Boston in the cutter's boat. Captain Scott, of the cutter, told me a
singular story of what occurred during the action between the
Constitution and Macedonian, --he being powder-monkey aboard the former
ship. A cannon-shot came through the ship's side, and a man's head was
struck off, probably by a splinter, for it was done without bruising the
head or body, as clean as by a razor. Well, the man was walking pretty
briskly at the time of the accident; and Scott seriously affirmed that
he kept walking onward at the same pace, with two jets of blood gushing
from his headless trunk, till, after going about twenty feet without a
head, he sunk down at once, with his legs under him.
[The corroboration of the truth of this, see Lord Bacon, Century IV. of
his Sylva Sylvarum, or Natural History, in Ten Centuries, paragraph 400.]
On Saturday, I called to see E. H------, having previously appointed a
meeting for the purpose of inquiring about our name. He is an old
bachelor, and truly forlorn. The pride of ancestry seems to be his great
hobby. He had a good many old papers in his desk at the Custom-House,
which he produced and dissertated upon, and afterwards went with me to
his sister's, and showed me an old book, with a record of the children of
the first emigrant (who came over two hundred years ago), in his own
handwriting. E----'s manners are gentlemanly, and he seems to be very
well informed. At a little distance, I think, one would take him to be
not much over thirty; but nearer at hand one finds him to look rather
venerable,--perhaps fifty or more. He is nervous, and his hands shook
while he was looking over the papers, as if he had been startled by my
visit; and when we came to the crossings of streets, he darted across,
cautioning me, as if both were in great danger to be run over.
Nevertheless, being very quick-tempered, he would face the Devil if at
all irritated. He gave a most forlorn description of his life; how, when
he came to Salem, there was nobody except Mr. ------ whom he cared about
seeing; how his position prevented him from accepting of civilities,
because he had no home where he could return them; in short, he seemed
about as miserable a being as is to be found anywhere,--lonely, and with
sensitiveness to feel his loneliness, and capacities, now withered, to
have enjoyed the sweets of life. I suppose he is comfortable enough when
busied in his duties at the Custom-House; for when I spoke to him at my
entrance, he was too much absorbed to hear me at first. As we walked, he
kept telling stories of the family, which seemed to have comprised many
oddities, eccentric men and women, recluses and other kinds,--one of old
Philip English (a Jersey man, the name originally L'Anglais), who had
been persecuted by John Hawthorne, of witch-time memory, and a violent
quarrel ensued. When Philip lay on his death-bed, he consented to
forgive his persecutor; "But if I get well," said he, "I'll be damned if
I forgive him!" This Philip left daughters, one of whom married, I
believe, the son of the persecuting John, and thus all the legitimate
blood of English is in our family. E---- passed from the matters of
birth, pedigree, and ancestral pride to give vent to the most arrant
democracy and locofocoism that I ever happened to hear, saying that
nobody ought to possess wealth longer than his own life, and that then it
should return to the people, etc. He says S. I------ has a great fund of
traditions about the family, which she learned from her mother or
grandmother (I forget which), one of them being a Hawthorne. The old
lady was a very proud woman, and, as E---- says, "proud of being proud,"
and so is S. I------.
October 7th.--A walk in Northfields in the afternoon. Bright sunshine
and autumnal warmth, giving a sensation quite unlike the same degree of
warmth in summer. Oaks,--some brown, some reddish, some still green;
walnuts, yellow,--fallen leaves and acorns lying beneath; the footsteps
crumple them in walking. In sunny spots beneath the trees, where green
grass is overstrewn by the dry, fallen foliage, as I passed, I disturbed
multitudes of grasshoppers basking in the warm sunshine; and they began
to hop, hop, hop, pattering on the dry leaves like big and heavy drops of
a thunder-shower. They were invisible till they hopped. Boys gathering
walnuts. Passed an orchard, where two men were gathering the apples. A
wagon, with barrels, stood among the trees; the men's coats flung on the
fence; the apples lay in heaps, and each of the men was up in a separate
tree. They conversed together in loud voices, which the air caused to
ring still louder, jeering each other, boasting of their own feats in
shaking down the apples. One got into the very top of his tree, and gave
a long and mighty shake, and the big apples came down thump, thump,
bushels hitting on the ground at once. "There! did you ever hear
anything like that?" cried he. This sunny scene was pretty. A horse
feeding apart, belonging to the wagon. The barberry-bushes have some red
fruit on them, but they are frost-bitten. The rose-bushes have their
scarlet hips.
Distant clumps of trees, now that the variegated foliage adorns them,
have a pbantasmagorian, an apparition-like appearance. They seem to be
of some kindred to the crimson and gold cloud-islands. It would not be
strange to see phantoms peeping forth from their recesses. When the sun
was almost below the horizon, his rays, gilding the upper branches of a
yellow walnut-tree, had an airy and beautiful effect,--the gentle
contrast between the tint of the yellow in the shade and its ethereal
gold in the fading sunshine. The woods that crown distant uplands were
seen to great advantage in these last rays, for the sunshine perfectly
marked out and distinguished every shade of color, varnishing them as it
were; while the country round, both hill and plain, being in gloomy
shadow, the woods looked the brighter for it.
The tide, being high, had flowed almost into the Cold Spring, so its
small current hardly issued forth from the basin. As I approached, two
little eels, about as long as my finger, and slender in proportion,
wriggled out of the basin. They had come from the salt water. An
Indian-corn field, as yet unharvested,--huge, golden pumpkins scattered
among the hills of corn,--a noble-looking fruit. After the sun was down,
the sky was deeply dyed with a broad sweep of gold, high towards the
zenith; not flaming brightly, but of a somewhat dusky gold. A piece of
water, extending towards the west, between high banks, caught the
reflection, and appeared like a sheet of brighter and more glistening
gold than the sky which made it bright.
Dandelions and blue flowers are still growing in sunny places. Saw in a
barn a prodigious treasure of onions in their silvery coats, exhaling a
penetrating perfume.
How exceeding bright looks the sunshine, casually reflected from a
looking-glass into a gloomy region of the chamber, distinctly marking out
the figures and colors of the paper-hangings, which are scarcely seen
elsewhere. It is like the light of mind thrown on an obscure subject.
Man's finest workmanship, the closer you observe it, the more
imperfections it shows; as in a piece of polished steel a microscope will
discover a rough surface. Whereas, what may look coarse and rough in
Nature's workmanship will show an infinitely minute perfection, the
closer you look into it. The reason of the minute superiority of
Nature's work over man's is, that the former works from the innermost
germ, while the latter works merely superficially.
Standing in the cross-road that leads by the Mineral Spring, and looking
towards an opposite shore of the lake, an ascending bank, with a douse
border of trees, green, yellow, red, russet, all bright colors,
brightened by the mild brilliancy of the descending sun; it was strange
to recognize the sober old friends of spring and summer in this new
dress. By the by, a pretty riddle or fable might be made out of the
changes in apparel of the familiar trees round a house, adapted for
children. But in the lake, beneath the aforesaid border of trees,--the
water being, not rippled, but its glassy surface somewhat moved and
shaken by the remote agitation of a breeze that was breathing on the
outer lake,--this being in a sort of bay,--in the slightly agitated
mirror, the variegated trees were reflected dreamily and indistinctly; a
broad belt of bright and diversified colors shining in the water beneath.
Sometimes the image of a tree might be almost traced; then nothing but
this sweep of broken rainbow. It was like the recollection of the real
scene in an observer's mind,--a confused radiance.
A whirlwind, whirling the dried leaves round in a circle, not very
violently.
To well consider the characters of a family of persons in a certain
condition,--in poverty, for instance,--and endeavor to judge how an
altered condition would affect the character of each.
The aromatic odor of peat-smoke in the sunny autumnal air is very
pleasant.
Salem, October 14th.--A walk through Beverly to Browne's Hill, and home
by the iron-factory. A bright, cool afternoon. The trees, in a large
part of the space through which I passed, appeared to be in their fullest
glory, bright red, yellow, some of a tender green, appearing at a
distance as if bedecked with new foliage, though this emerald tint was
likewise the effect of frost. In some places, large tracts of ground
were covered as with a scarlet cloth,--the underbrush being thus colored.
The general character of these autumnal colors is not gaudy, scarcely
gay; there is something too deep and rich in it: it is gorgeous and
magnificent, but with a sobriety diffused. The pastures at the foot of
Browne's Hill were plentifully covered with barberry-bushes, the leaves
of which were reddish, and they were hung with a prodigious quantity of
berries. From the summit of the hill, looking down a tract of woodland
at a considerable distance, so that the interstices between the trees
could not be seen, their tops presented an unbroken level, and seemed
somewhat like a richly variegated carpet. The prospect from the hill is
wide and interesting; but methinks it is pleasanter in the more immediate
vicinity of the hill than miles away. It is agreeable to look down at
the square patches of cornfield, or of potato-ground, or of cabbages
still green, or of beets looking red,--all a man's farm, in short,--each
portion of which he considers separately so important, while you take in
the whole at a glance. Then to cast your eye over so many different
establishments at once, and rapidly compare thorn,--here a house of
gentility, with shady old yellow-leaved elms hanging around it; there a
new little white dwelling; there an old farm-house; to see the barns and
sheds and all the out-houses clustered together; to comprehend the
oneness and exclusiveness and what constitutes the peculiarity of each of
so many establishments, and to have in your mind a multitude of them,
each of which is the most important part of the world to those who live
in it,--this really enlarges the mind, and you come down the hill
somewhat wiser than you go up. Pleasant to look over an orchard far
below, and see the trees, each casting its own shadow; the white spires
of meeting-houses; a sheet of water, partly seen among swelling lands.
This Browne's Hill is a long ridge, lying in the midst of a large, level
plain; it looks at a distance somewhat like a whale, with its head and
tail under water, but its immense back protruding, with steep sides, and
a gradual curve along its length. When you have climbed it on one side,
and gaze from the summit at the other, you feel as if you had made a
discovery,--the landscape being quite different on the two sides. The
cellar of the house which formerly crowned the hill, and used to be named
Browne's Folly, still remains, two grass-grown and shallow hollows, on
the highest part of the ridge. The house consisted of two wings, each
perhaps sixty feet in length, united by a middle part, in which was the
entrance-hall, and which looked lengthwise along the hill. The
foundation of a spacious porch may be traced on either side of the
central portion; some of the stones still remain; but even where they
are gone, the line of the porch is still traceable by the greener
verdure. In the cellar, or rather in the two cellars, grow one or two
barberry-bushes, with frost-bitten fruit; there is also yarrow with its
white flower, and yellow dandelions. The cellars are still deep enough
to shelter a person, all but his head at least, from the wind on the
summit of the hill; but they are all grass-grown. A line of trees seems
to have been planted along the ridge of the hill. The edifice must have
made quite a magnificent appearance.
Characteristics during the walk:--Apple-trees with only here and there an
apple on the boughs, among the thinned leaves, the relics of a gathering.
In others you observe a rustling, and see the boughs shaking and hear the
apples thumping down, without seeing the person who does it. Apples
scattered by the wayside, some with pieces bitten out, others entire,
which you pick up and taste, and find them harsh, crabbed cider-apples,
though they have a pretty, waxen appearance. In sunny spots of woodland,
boys in search of nuts, looking picturesque among the scarlet and golden
foliage. There is something in this sunny autumnal atmosphere that gives
a peculiar effect to laughter and joyous voices,--it makes them
infinitely more elastic and gladsome than at other seasons. Heaps of dry
leaves tossed together by the wind, as if for a couch and lounging-place
for the weary traveller, while the sun is warming it for him. Golden
pumpkins and squashes, heaped in the angle of a house, till they reach
the lower windows. Ox-teams, laden with a rustling load of Indian corn,
in the stalk and ear. When all inlet of the sea runs far up into the
country, you stare to see a large schooner appear amid the rural
landscape; she is unloading a cargo of wood, moist with rain or salt
water that has dashed over it. Perhaps you hear the sound of an axe in
the woodland; occasionally, the report of a fowling-piece. The
travellers in the early part of the afternoon look warm and comfortable
as if taking a summer drive; but as eve draws nearer, you meet them well
wrapped in top-coats or cloaks, or rough, great surtouts, and red-nosed
withal, seeming to take no great comfort, but pressing homeward. The
characteristic conversation among teamsters and country squires, where
the ascent of a hill causes the chaise to go at the same pace as an
ox-team,--perhaps discussing the qualities of a yoke of oxen. The cold,
blue aspects of sheets of water. Some of the country shops with the
doors closed; others still open as in summer. I meet a wood-sawyer, with
his horse and saw on his shoulders, returning from work. As night draws
on, you begin to see the gleaming of fires on the ceilings in the houses
which you pass. The comfortless appearance of houses at bleak and bare
spots,--you wonder how there can be any enjoyment in them. I meet a girl
in a chintz gown, with a small shawl on her shoulders, white stockings,
and summer morocco shoes,--it looks observable. Turkeys, queer, solemn
objects, in black attire, grazing about, and trying to peck the fallen
apples, which slip away from their bills.
October 16th.--Spent the whole afternoon in a ramble to the sea-shore,
near Phillips's Beach. A beautiful, warm, sunny afternoon, the very
pleasantest day, probably, that there has been in the whole course of the
year. People at work, harvesting, without their coats. Cocks, with
their squad of hens, in the grass-fields, hunting grasshoppers, chasing
them eagerly with outspread wings, appearing to take much interest in the
sport, apart from the profit. Other hens picking up the ears of Indian
corn. Grasshoppers, flies, and flying insects of all sorts are more
abundant in these warm autumnal days than I have seen them at any other
time. Yellow butterflies flutter about in the sunshine, singly, by
pairs, or more, and are wafted on the gentle gales. The crickets begin
to sing early in the afternoon, and sometimes a locust may be heard. In
some warm spots, a pleasant buzz of many insects.
Crossed the fields near Brookhouse's villa, and came upon a long beach,--
at least a mile long, I should think,--terminated by craggy rocks at
either end, and backed by a high broken bank, the grassy summit of which,
year by year, is continually breaking away, and precipitated to the
bottom. At the foot of the bank, in some parts, is a vast number of
pebbles and paving-stones, rolled up thither by the sea long ago. The
beach is of a brown sand, with hardly any pebbles intermixed upon it.
When the tide is part way down, there is a margin of several yards from
the water's edge, along the whole mile length of the beach, which
glistens like a mirror, and reflects objects, and shines bright in the
sunshine, the sand being wet to that distance from the water. Above this
margin the sand is not wet, and grows less and less damp the farther
towards the bank you keep. In some places your footstep is perfectly
implanted, showing the whole shape, and the square toe, and every nail in
the heel of your boot. Elsewhere, the impression is imperfect, and even
when you stamp, you cannot imprint the whole. As you tread, a dry spot
flashes around your step, and grows moist as you lift your foot again.
Pleasant to pass along this extensive walk, watching the surf-wave;--how
sometimes it seems to make a feint of breaking, but dies away
ineffectually, merely kissing the strand; then, after many such abortive
efforts, it gathers itself, and forms a high wall, and rolls onward,
heightening and heightening without foam at the summit of the green line,
and at last throws itself fiercely on the beach, with a loud roar, the
spray flying above. As you walk along, you are preceded by a flock of
twenty or thirty beach birds, which are seeking, I suppose, for food on
the margin of the surf, yet seem to be merely sporting, chasing the sea
as it retires, and running up before the impending wave. Sometimes they
let it bear them off their feet, and float lightly on its breaking
summit; sometimes they flutter and seem to rest on the feathery spray.
They are little birds with gray backs and snow-white breasts; their
images may be seen in the wet sand almost or quite as distinctly as the
reality. Their legs are long. As you draw near, they take a flight of a
score of yards or more, and then recommence their dalliance with the
surf-wave. You may behold their multitudinous little tracks all along
your way. Before you reach the end of the beach, you become quite
attached to these little sea-birds, and take much interest in their
occupations. After passing in one direction, it is pleasant then to
retrace your footsteps. Your tracks being all traceable, you may recall
the whole mood and occupation of your mind during your first passage.
Here you turned somewhat aside to pick up a shell that you saw nearer the
water's edge. Here you examined a long sea-weed, and trailed its length
after you for a considerable distance. Here the effect of the wide sea
struck you suddenly. Here you fronted the ocean, looking at a sail,
distant in the sunny blue. Here you looked at some plant on the bank.
Here some vagary of mind seems to have bewildered you; for your tracks go
round and round, and interchange each other without visible reason. Here
you picked up pebbles and skipped them upon the water. Here you wrote
names and drew faces with a razor sea-shell in the sand.
After leaving the beach, clambered over crags, all shattered and tossed
about everyhow; in some parts curiously worn and hollowed out, almost
into caverns. The rock, shagged with sea-weed,--in some places, a thick
carpet of sea-weed laid over the pebbles, into which your foot would
sink. Deep tanks among these rocks, which the sea replenishes at high
tide, and then leaves the bottom all covered with various sorts of
sea-plants, as if it were some sea-monster's private garden. I saw a
crab in one of them; five-fingers too. From the edge of the rocks, you
may look off into deep, deep water, even at low tide. Among the rocks, I
found a great bird, whether a wild-goose, a loon, or an albatross, I
scarcely know. It was in such a position that I almost fancied it might
be asleep, and therefore drew near softly, lest it should take flight;
but it was dead, and stirred not when I touched it. Sometimes a dead
fish was cast up. A ledge of rocks, with a beacon upon it, looking like
a monument erected to those who have perished by shipwreck. The smoked,
extempore fireplace, where a party cooked their fish. About midway on
the beach, a fresh-water brooklet flows towards the sea. Where it leaves
the land, it is quite a rippling little current; but, in flowing across
the sand, it grows shallower and more shallow, and at last is quite lost,
and dies in the effort to carry its little tribute to the main.
An article to be made of telling the stories of the tiles of an
old-fashioned chimney-piece to a child.
A person conscious that he was soon to die, the humor in which he would
pay his last visit to familiar persons and things.
A description of the various classes of hotels and taverns, and the
prominent personages in each. There should be some story connected with
it,--as of a person commencing with boarding at a great hotel, and
gradually, as his means grew less, descending in life, till he got below
ground into a cellar.
A person to be in the possession of something as perfect as mortal man
has a right to demand; he tries to make it better, and ruins it entirely.
A person to spend all his life and splendid talents in trying to achieve
something naturally impossible,--as to make a conquest over Nature.
Meditations about the main gas-pipe of a great city,--if the supply were
to be stopped, what would happen? How many different scenes it sheds
light on? It might be made emblematical of something.
December 6th.--A fairy tale about chasing Echo to her hiding-place. Echo
is the voice of a reflection in a mirror.
A house to be built over a natural spring of inflammable gas, and to be
constantly illuminated therewith. What moral could be drawn from this?
It is carburetted hydrogen gas, and is cooled from a soft shale or slate,
which is sometimes bituminous, and contains more or less carbonate of
lime. It appears in the vicinity of Lockport and Niagara Falls, and
elsewhere in New York. I believe it indicates coal. At Fredonia, the
whole village is lighted by it. Elsewhere, a farm-house was lighted by
it, and no other fuel used in the coldest weather.
Gnomes, or other mischievous little fiends, to be represented as
burrowing in the hollow teeth of some person who has subjected himself to
their power. It should be a child's story. This should be one of many
modes of petty torment. They should be contrasted with beneficent
fairies, who minister to the pleasures of the good.
A man will undergo great toil and hardship for ends that must be many
years distant,--as wealth or fame,--but none for an end that may be close
at hand,--as the joys of heaven.
Insincerity in a man's own heart must make all his enjoyments, all that
concerns him, unreal; so that his whole life must seem like a merely
dramatic representation. And this would be the case, even though he were
surrounded by true-hearted relatives and friends.
A company of men, none of whom have anything worth hoping for on earth,
yet who do not look forward to anything beyond earth!
Sorrow to be personified, and its effect on a family represented by the
way in which the members of the family regard this dark-clad and
sad-browed inmate.
A story to show how we are all wronged and wrongers, and avenge one
another.
To personify winds of various characters.
A man living a wicked life, in one place, and simultaneously a virtuous
and religious one in another.
An ornament to be worn about the person of a lady,--as a jewelled heart.
After many years, it happens to be broken or unscrewed, and a poisonous
odor comes out.
Lieutenant F. W------ of the navy was an inveterate duellist and an
unerring shot. He had taken offence at Lieutenant F------, and
endeavored to draw him into a duel, following him to the Mediterranean
for that purpose, and harassing him intolerably. At last, both parties
being in Massachusetts, F------ determined to fight, and applied to
Lieutenant A------ to be his second. A------ examined into the merits of
the quarrel, and came to the conclusion that F------ had not given F.
W------ justifiable cause for driving him to a duel, and that he ought
not to be shot. He instructed F------ in the use of the pistol, and,
before the meeting, warned him, by all means, to get the first fire; for
that, if F. W------ fired first, he, F------, was infallibly a dead man,
as his antagonist could shoot to a hair's-breadth. The parties met; and
F------, firing immediately on the word's being given, shot F. W------
through the heart. F. W------, with a most savage expression of
countenance, fired, after the bullet had gone through his heart, and when
the blood had entirely left his face, and shot away one of F------'s
side-locks. His face probably looked as if he were already in the
infernal regions; but afterwards it assumed an angelic calmness and
repose.
A company of persons to drink a certain medicinal preparation, which
would prove a poison, or the contrary, according to their different
characters.
Many persons, without a consciousness of so doing, to contribute to some
one end; as to a beggar's feast, made up of broken victuals from many
tables; or a patch carpet, woven of shreds from innumerable garments.
Some very famous jewel or other thing, much talked of all over the world.
some person to meet with it, and get possession of it in some unexpected
manner, amid homely circumstances.
To poison a person or a party of persons with the sacramental wine.
A cloud in the shape of an old woman kneeling, with arms extended towards
the moon.
On being transported to strange scenes, we feel as if all were unreal.
This is but the perception of the true unreality of earthly things, made
evident by the want of congruity between ourselves and them. By and by
we become mutually adapted, and the perception is lost.
An old looking-glass. Somebody finds out the secret of making all the
images that have been reflected in it pass back again across its surface.
Our Indian races having reared no monuments, like the Greeks, Romans, and
Egyptians, when they have disappeared from the earth their history will
appear a fable, and they misty phantoms.
A woman to sympathize with all emotions, but to have none of her own.
A portrait of a person in New England to be recognized as of the same
person represented by a portrait in Old England. Having distinguished
himself there, he had suddenly vanished, and had never been heard of till
he was thus discovered to be identical with a distinguished man in New
England.
Men of cold passions have quick eyes.
A virtuous but giddy girl to attempt to play a trick on a man. He sees
what she is about, and contrives matters so that she throws herself
completely into his power, and is ruined,--all in jest.
A letter, written a century or more ago, but which has never yet been
unsealed.
A partially insane man to believe himself the Provincial Governor or
other great official of Massachusetts. The scene might be the Province
House.
A dreadful secret to be communicated to several people of various
characters,--grave or gay,--and they all to become insane, according to
their characters, by the influence of the secret.
Stories to be told of a certain person's appearance in public, of his
having been seen in various situations, and of his making visits in
private circles; but finally, on looking for this person, to come upon
his old grave and mossy tombstone.
The influence of a peculiar mind, in close communion with another, to
drive the latter to insanity.
To look at a beautiful girl, and picture all the lovers, in different
situations, whose hearts are centred upon her.
May 11th, 1838.--At Boston last week. Items:--A young man, with a small
mustache, dyed brown, reddish from its original light color. He walks
with an affected gait, his arms crooked outwards, treading much on his
toes. His conversation is about the theatre, where he has a season
ticket,--about an amateur who lately appeared there, and about actresses,
with other theatrical scandal.--In the smoking-room, two checker and
backgammon boards; the landlord a great player, seemingly a stupid man,
but with considerable shrewdness and knowledge of the world.--F------,
the comedian, a stout, heavy-looking Englishman, of grave deportment,
with no signs of wit or humor, yet aiming at both in conversation, in
order to support his character. Very steady and regular in his life, and
parsimonious in his disposition,--worth $ 50,000, made by his
profession.--A clergyman, elderly, with a white neckcloth, very
unbecoming, an unworldly manner, unacquaintance with the customs of the
house, and learning them in a childlike way. A ruffle to his shirt,
crimped.--A gentleman, young, handsome, and sea-flushed, belonging to
Oswego, New York, but just arrived in port from the Mediterranean: he
inquires of me about the troubles in Canada, which were first beginning
to make a noise when he left the country,--whether they are all over. I
tell him all is finished, except the hanging of the prisoners. Then we
talk over the matter, and I tell him the fates of the principal men,--
some banished to New South Wales, one hanged, others in prison, others,
conspicuous at first, now almost forgotten.--Apartments of private
families in the hotel,--what sort of domesticity there may be in them;
eating in public, with no board of their own. The gas that lights the
rest of the house lights them also, in the chandelier from the ceiling.--
A shabby-looking man, quiet, with spectacles, at first wearing an old,
coarse brown frock, then appearing in a suit of elderly black, saying
nothing unless spoken to, but talking intelligently when addressed. He
is an editor, and I suppose printer, of a country paper. Among the
guests, he holds intercourse with gentlemen of much more respectable
appearance than himself, from the same part of the country.--Bill of
fare; wines printed on the back, but nobody calls for a bottle. Chairs
turned down for expected guests. Three-pronged steel forks. Cold
supper from nine to eleven P. M. Great, round, mahogany table, in the
sitting-room, covered with papers. In the morning, before and soon after
breakfast, gentlemen reading the morning papers, while others wait for
their chance, or try to pick out something from the papers of yesterday
or longer ago. In the forenoon, the Southern papers are brought in, and
thrown damp and folded on the table. The eagerness with which those who
happen to be in the room start up and make prize of them. Play-bills,
printed on yellow paper, laid upon the table. Towards evening comes the
Transcript.
