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William Kent (search for this): chapter 10
imagine, he wrote to Hillard, the intensity with which my mind, during these moments, reverted to the old scenes and faces with which it was familiar. The wind kept fair and strong, and the voyage, for one made in a sailing vessel and during the winter, was exceptionally rapid and agreeable. Journal Dec. 25. On the fourth day I was rejoiced to find myself able to read, though lying in my berth. Previously my time had passed without the relief which this at once afforded. Chancellor Kent had been kind enough to advise me to take a stock of pleasant books, and I had provided myself with some on the morning of sailing. I read the fourth and fifth parts of Lockhart's Life of Scott, James's novel of Attila, Cooper's England, and the Life of Burr, while stretched in my berth; and never were books a greater luxury: they were friends and companions where I was, in a degree, friendless and companionless. At the end of the first week I was able, with some ado, to appear at t
M. Vasseur (search for this): chapter 10
the weakness rather than the nausea of sea-sickness, with his appetite returning upon him like a Bay of Fundy tide, to lie in his berth and hear the clatter of plates and the merry voices of his fellow-passengers, as they attacked a turkey or a duck, and as another cork briskly left the bottle. Our dinners I found quite pleasant. Our company was small,— Mr. John Munroe, a young merchant going to establish himself in Paris; Mr. Darlington, a midshipman on leave of absence for his health; M. Vasseur, a young Frenchman returning home after upwards of a year's absence; and a young man, a brother of the captain. And though with none of these did I have any particular sympathy,–any thing, indeed, which under other circumstances would have led to more than a passing acquaintance,—yet I found them uniformly pleasant; and our dinners, between four and five o'clock in the afternoon, formed the reunions of the day. Several times after dinner I revived my old and forgotten knowledge, first gai<
Aaron Burr (search for this): chapter 10
eptionally rapid and agreeable. Journal Dec. 25. On the fourth day I was rejoiced to find myself able to read, though lying in my berth. Previously my time had passed without the relief which this at once afforded. Chancellor Kent had been kind enough to advise me to take a stock of pleasant books, and I had provided myself with some on the morning of sailing. I read the fourth and fifth parts of Lockhart's Life of Scott, James's novel of Attila, Cooper's England, and the Life of Burr, while stretched in my berth; and never were books a greater luxury: they were friends and companions where I was, in a degree, friendless and companionless. At the end of the first week I was able, with some ado, to appear at the dinner-table. I know no feeling which, in a small way, is keener than for a man disabled by the weakness rather than the nausea of sea-sickness, with his appetite returning upon him like a Bay of Fundy tide, to lie in his berth and hear the clatter of plates and
Westminster Abbey (search for this): chapter 10
aid to be the finest specimen of Gothic architecture on the Continent. Certainly it is immensely vast and elaborate, transcending all that my imagination had pictured as the result of this architecture, The minuteness of the workmanship testifies that it was done by those who commanded hands for labor with a facility not unlike that which summoned the thousands of laborers who raised the pyramids of Egypt. I can hardly imagine such a work at the present day. No building, unless it be Westminster Abbey, abounds more in historical associations. Enlarged, if not built, by the ancient dukes of Normandy anterior to the conquest of England, it is the chosen place where the bones of many of them repose. Here are the remains of Rollo, the first duke of Normandy and the ancestor of the Conqueror, and over them a monumental effigy; of William of the Long Sword, his son; of Henry, the father of Coeur de Lion; and here the Lion-heart itself was deposited. At a later day, the remains of the
John Munroe (search for this): chapter 10
as able, with some ado, to appear at the dinner-table. I know no feeling which, in a small way, is keener than for a man disabled by the weakness rather than the nausea of sea-sickness, with his appetite returning upon him like a Bay of Fundy tide, to lie in his berth and hear the clatter of plates and the merry voices of his fellow-passengers, as they attacked a turkey or a duck, and as another cork briskly left the bottle. Our dinners I found quite pleasant. Our company was small,— Mr. John Munroe, a young merchant going to establish himself in Paris; Mr. Darlington, a midshipman on leave of absence for his health; M. Vasseur, a young Frenchman returning home after upwards of a year's absence; and a young man, a brother of the captain. And though with none of these did I have any particular sympathy,–any thing, indeed, which under other circumstances would have led to more than a passing acquaintance,—yet I found them uniformly pleasant; and our dinners, between four and five o'<
Chapter 10: the voyage and Arrival.—December, 1837, to January, 1838— age, 26-27. This memoir, for the period of Sumner's absence from the country, must be confined chiefly to selections from his letters, and a journal which he began on the voyage and continued nearly four months. The journal begins thus:— Dec. 25, 1837.—Christmas. It is now seventeen days since I left New York for Havre in the ship Albany, Captain Johnston. Described in a letter of Sumner to Judge Story, Dec. 25, as a man of science and veracity. My passage had been taken, and my bill on the Rothschilds in Paris obtained, on the 7th December. On that day dined with a pleasant party at Mrs. Ledyard's, Mrs. Susan Ledyard, 53 Crosby Street; a friend of Judge Story, and the daughter of Brockholst Livingston, a judge of the Supreme Court of the United States, 1806-23. She died March 7, 1864; surviving her husband, Benjamin Ledyard, more than half a century.— the last dinner of my native land. Left
Charles Sumner (search for this): chapter 10
age and Arrival.—December, 1837, to January, 1838— age, 26-27. This memoir, for the period of Sumner's absence from the country, must be confined chiefly to selections from his letters, and a journince I left New York for Havre in the ship Albany, Captain Johnston. Described in a letter of Sumner to Judge Story, Dec. 25, as a man of science and veracity. My passage had been taken, and my bil left the wharf about noon, Dec. 8, and, while she was being towed by a steamer down the harbor, Sumner wrote letters to Judge Story, Hillard, and his brother George. A fresh breeze then took the vesevening of the 25th, the captain descried dimly Start Point, in Devonshire; and the next morning Sumner saw Cape Barfleur, about fifteen miles to the right, –his first glimpse of Europe, and the first leave its immense fund of interest for the intelligent traveller unexhausted. The cathedral Sumner visited Rouen and its cathedral some years afterwards, March 21 and 22, 1857. is the great lion <
Scott Lockhart (search for this): chapter 10
ng, and the voyage, for one made in a sailing vessel and during the winter, was exceptionally rapid and agreeable. Journal Dec. 25. On the fourth day I was rejoiced to find myself able to read, though lying in my berth. Previously my time had passed without the relief which this at once afforded. Chancellor Kent had been kind enough to advise me to take a stock of pleasant books, and I had provided myself with some on the morning of sailing. I read the fourth and fifth parts of Lockhart's Life of Scott, James's novel of Attila, Cooper's England, and the Life of Burr, while stretched in my berth; and never were books a greater luxury: they were friends and companions where I was, in a degree, friendless and companionless. At the end of the first week I was able, with some ado, to appear at the dinner-table. I know no feeling which, in a small way, is keener than for a man disabled by the weakness rather than the nausea of sea-sickness, with his appetite returning upon h
Caroline Bonaparte (search for this): chapter 10
valuable to be slighted,— for a heap of these will make an ingot. Give my love to mother, and all the family. Tell George to write me a brisk, news-full letter. Your affectionate brother, Chas. Journal. Dec. 28, 1837. At length in Havre, with antiquity staring at me from every side. At four o'clock this morning weighed anchor, and drifted with the tide and a gentle wind to the docks; a noble work, contrived for the reception of vessels, and bearing the inscription of An IX. Bonaparte 1er Consul,—the labor of this great man meeting me on the very threshold of France. Dismissed from the custom house we went to the Hotel de New York, where a smiling French woman received us, and we were shown each of us to a chamber. The house was small and narrow, and the stairs composed of tiles; but the chamber into which I was conducted harmonized with my anticipations of a French apartment. The room was of moderate size, with a floor of hexagon tiles partially covered with a neat
Childe Harold (search for this): chapter 10
hen these two conquerors timidly entrusted themselves to their bosom. Civilization, in the mean time, with its attendant servants—commerce, printing, and Christianity—has been working changes in the two countries on either side; so that Caesar and William, could they revisit the earth, might not recognize the lands from which they passed, or which they subdued. The sea receives no impress from man. This idea Byron has expanded in some of the most beautiful stanzas he has written in the Childe Harold. On Christmas Day, besides writing in his journal, he wrote letters to Hillard and Judge Story. To Hillard he wrote: It is now seventeen days, and I am without news of you and your affairs, and of all our common friends; and I feel sad to think that many more days will elapse before I shall hear from you. When you write, dwell on all particulars; tell me about all my friends, give me every turn of the wheel. To Judge Story he wrote: It is now about seven o'clock on the evening of C
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