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eceded us. We had hardly driven a quarter of a mile when we broke through some ice; one horse fell, and the carriage, as the phrase is, mired up to the hubs. In half an hour we were extricated, and went on carefully by the track, often walking to lighten the carriage; when the track suddenly turned into the woods, and left us without a guide. The snow was ten or fifteen inches deep, unbroken for a mile or two, when we again followed a cart a short distance. At last we reached the Half-way House, a miserable hut of one room; and as I went in, I saw a girl sitting by the fire, pale and feeble from illness; and turning from her, lest she should think me too curious, saw a young man on a bed behind the door, whose countenance showed that he had not long to suffer. I was glad to leave this wretched hut. We went on at a moderate walk, foundered twice in the snow and mud, and at last broke the pole, when two miles from the nearest house. So Gray and I mounted one of the leaders and rode
irty feet high,—which, with the hall I have described, composed the whole centre of the house, from top to bottom. The floor of this room is tessellated. It is formed of alternate diamonds of cherry and beech, and kept polished as highly as if it were of fine mahogany. Here are the best pictures of the collection. Over the fireplace is the Laughing and Weeping Philosophers, dividing the world between them; on its right, the earliest navigators to America,—Columbus, Americus Vespuccius, Magellan, etc.,—copied, Mr. Jefferson said, from originals in the Florence Gallery. Farther round, Mr. Madison in the plain, Quaker-like dress of his youth, Lafayette in his Revolutionary uniform, and Franklin in the dress in which we always see him. There were other pictures, and a copy of Raphael's Transfiguration. We conversed on various subjects until dinner-time, and at dinner were introduced to the grown members of his family. These are his only remaining child, Mrs. Randolph, her husband<
Thomas Jefferson (search for this): chapter 2
Saturday morning, the 4th of February, for Mr. Jefferson's. He lives, you know, on a mountain, whic In its centre, and facing the southeast, Mr. Jefferson has placed his house, which is of brick, t mastodon, containing the only os frontis, Mr. Jefferson tells me, that has yet been found. On theericus Vespuccius, Magellan, etc.,—copied, Mr. Jefferson said, from originals in the Florence Gallety. On Sunday morning, after breakfast, Mr. Jefferson asked me into his library, and there I speuild the fire. To-day, Tuesday, we told Mr. Jefferson that we should leave Monticello in the aftted before New Orleans by General Jackson. Mr. Jefferson had made up his mind that the city would fmond, I found the country ringing with it. Mr. Jefferson's great dam was gone, and it would cost $3e is a breathing of notional philosophy in Mr. Jefferson,—in his dress, his house, his conversationduties. He recollected me, inquired after Mr. Jefferson and his library, and seemed interested in [8 more...]<
something on politics; and, if I write you anything, it must be about the last act or the last rumor, for such things here never survive the day or the hour that produced them. The last remarkable event in the history of this remarkable Congress is Dallas's Report. You can imagine nothing like the dismay with which it has filled the Democratic party. All his former communications were but emollients and palliatives, compared with this final disclosure of the bankruptcy of the nation. Mr. Eppes, as Chancellor of the Exchequer, or Chairman of the Committee of Ways and Means, read it in his place yesterday; and when he had finished, threw it upon the table with expressive violence, and turning round to Mr. Gaston, asked him, with a bitter levity between jest and earnest: Well, sir, will your party take the Government if we will give it up to them? No, sir, said Gaston, in a tone which, from my little acquaintance with him, I can easily believe to have been as equivocal as that in
the service there the next Sunday, and was thoroughly frightened. There were very few Catholics here then, and the church was half filled with Protestants. We little boys were put on a bench in front of the upper pews, before the chancel. Bishop Cheverus,—who spoke English pretty well,—before he began the mass, addressed the Protestants, and told us all that we must not turn our backs to the altar. I dare say we boys had turned round to look at the singers, for the music was a good deal more gay and various than we were used to. Cheverus told us we must not turn round, for the Host would be raised, and the Holy Ghost would descend into the chancel and fill it. I did n't know what was coming; but I was well frightened, and did n't turn round. At the same time the means of intellectual training were infinitely less than they are now. Books were scarce, and there were no large libraries rich with the spoils of learning. But a taste for reading and a love of knowledge were generally
Charles S. Daveis (search for this): chapter 2
—even if it be but a week,—I shall, I hope, devote myself to some study, many more hours in the day than I do at home. In August of the same year he gave to Mr. Daveis, of Portland, Maine, much the same sketch of his plans:— This next winter I shall pass at the South, to see the men the cities contain, and get some notio preserved, and of these two are given as specimens of his intellectual activity and the warmth of his affections. The sketch of Mr. Jeffrey, in the letter to Mr. Daveis, will be recognized as an admirable pen-portrait, especially for so young an artist. The power of drawing characters with a firm and discriminating touch does a case; but still, in spite of precedent and authority, I calculate on your submission to Horace, Homer, Milton, and George Ticknor! Vive atque vale. To Charles S. Daveis, Portland. Boston, February 8, 1814. If all the world had their deserts, said the heir-apparent of Denmark in my hearing last night, who should escape wh<
f the height. In its centre, and facing the southeast, Mr. Jefferson has placed his house, which is of brick, two stories high in the wings, with a piazza in front of a receding centre. It is built, I suppose, in the French style. You enter, by a glass folding-door, into a hall which reminds you of Fielding's Man of the Mountain, by the strange furniture of its walls. On one side hang the head and horns of an elk, a deer, and a buffalo; another is covered with curiosities which Lewis and Clarke found in their wild and perilous expedition. On the third, among many other striking matters, was the head of a mammoth, or, as Cuvier calls it, a mastodon, containing the only os frontis, Mr. Jefferson tells me, that has yet been found. On the fourth side, in odd union with a fine painting of the Repentance of Saint Peter, is an Indian map on leather, of the southern waters of the Missouri, and an Indian representation of a bloody battle, handed down in their traditions. Through this h
Agamemnon (search for this): chapter 2
understand you for the future. Touching that passage,—Sat. 1, line 100,—the facts are these. Horace, in conversation with a miser, endeavors to dissuade him from parsimony, by telling him that one Numidius had his brains beat out for it by his servant. This wench he calls fortissima Tyndaridarum, not because she was one of the descendants of Tyndarus, but because she was more brave than the daughters of Tyndarus, Helen and Clytemnestra, who had murdered their husbands, Deiphobus and Agamemnon. The same objection, therefore, lies against this, which meets us in Paradise Lost, Book IV.; for Horace had no more right to say that this liberta was the boldest of the daughters of Tyndarus— when she was none of them—than Milton had to call Adam the goodliest man of men since born his sons. The cases, you must confess, are parallel, and, to save your feelings, literary vanity, etc., etc., I will acknowledge that the case of Milton is the strongest and most obvious. Homer, howeve
office simply an influence now given to personal superiority alone. Friends and acquaintances saw much of each other in a simple and unostentatious way. Those in easy circumstances exercised a frequent, cordial, and not expensive hospitality. Time was not so precious, and life was not so crowded, then as now, and men and women could afford to give a larger portion of the day to social pleasures. The traditions of the fathers did not forbid a certain measure of conviviality. Excellent Madeira flowed generously at rich men's tables, and punch was a liquor that held up its head in good society. It was a pleasant life they led, in spite of the Puritan frost that yet lingered in the air. The resources of wealth and the refinements of luxury, however, fail of their end if they do not awaken the faculty of discourse, and make conversation finer and brighter. This result of society was secured in those days in measure not less ample than in our own. The women of that day were, in
Samuel Johnson (search for this): chapter 2
turn round. At the same time the means of intellectual training were infinitely less than they are now. Books were scarce, and there were no large libraries rich with the spoils of learning. But a taste for reading and a love of knowledge were generally diffused, and there were few homes of those in comfortable circumstances where there was not at least a closetful of good books. These were carefully, almost reverently, read; and such reading was productive of sound intellectual growth. Johnson was the favorite author in prose, and Pope in verse. Hervey's Meditations and Zimmerman on Solitude were popular books, and the glittering monotony of Darwin found admirers and imitators. Few were rich, and none were very poor. The largest estates were not more than what would now be deemed a modest competence. Political independence and popular government were of too recent a date to have wholly effaced the social customs of a colonial period. A certain line of distinction was drawn
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