trees and the richness of the land;' among skin-clad savages with their scalps and rattles, or uncouth emigrants, that would never speak English; rarely sleeping in a bed, holding a bearskin a splendid couch; glad of a restingplace for the night on a little hay, straw, or fodder, and often camping in the forests, where the place nearest the fire was a happy luxury-this stripling surveyor in the woods, with no companion but his unlettered associates, and no implements of science but his compass and his chain, contrasted strongly with the imperial magnificence of the Congress of Aix-la-Chapelle. And yet God had selected, not Kaunitz nor Newcastle, not a monarch of the house of Hapsburg nor of Hanover, but the Virginian stripling, to give an impulse to human affairs, and, as far as events can depend on an individual, had placed the rights and destinies of countless millions in the keeping of the widow's son."

And after this truly great man had accomplished his important task, and achieved an independence for his native land, he crowned his life, rich in honor, by giving freedom to his slaves, after having faithfully provided for their future.

How long will Virginia remain behind her noblest son? But, while we are earnest for the abolition of slavery and for the advancement of the honor of America, let us not forget what is the condition of the lower classes of our working-people in Europe, and even in our own country. Is not their life of labor too often like a hard slavery, especially as regards the women? Are not the daily wages of women in the country so miserably low, that, even if they work every day the whole year round, they can scarcely earn food and clothing for themselves and a couple of children. When a third child comes, then comes want necessarily with it. Is it not a common thing to hear the poor women on our country estates deplore, as even a punishment of God, when they are about to give birth to a poor

child; to hear mothers thank God for having of his mercy taken away a child, that is to say, because it is dead? Of a truth, our own working-class may improve themselves, both intellectually and physically, and every one may be the artificer of his own fortune. And this is a great advantage. But circumstances are often so compulsory that even this liberty does not help much.

I leave Virginia grateful for the good which it has given me in beautiful scenery, amiable friends, for this home full of kindness, and for the memory of a youth, from whose pure soul I derive new hope for the future of America-hope and anticipation from the youthful generation whose representative I see in him!

LETTER XL.

Philadelphia, July 14th.

SINCE I last wrote, I have made some small excursions and had some small adventures.

I parted from my heartily kind entertainers at Richmond last Monday, and sailed down the St. James River to Baltimore in Maryland. The day was without a breath of air, and oppressively hot; and it became still more oppressive to me from a certain dogmatic rector, who took upon himself to be my spiritual cicerone, and as he instructed me in this, that, and the other, he stretched forth and made vehement demonstrations with his arms, as if he were preparing for a boxing-match or for some important operation, which threw me into such a fever of anxiety as destroyed the effect and the recollection of his teachings. A young, polite, and warm-hearted student of Charlottesville was my refreshment. He had the prejudices of the slave states in his head, but his heart was good and unspoiled, and I doubt not but that I shall find myself very well off at his father's plantation on the beau

tiful river. How amiable and refreshing is youth, when it will be so!

The banks of the river were romantically beautiful and exuberantly green; no wonder that the first white discoverers were so enchanted that they described the country as an earthly paradise.

The ruins of the first church in Jamestown were still standing, at least one wall, and shone out red brick from a bright green wood by the river.

At night on the sea it was also stifling hot. A good, kind negro woman was my attendant, and we talked of various things. She had been a slave in Baltimore, and her master's family had assisted her to obtain her freedom. I asked her if she was as well off now she was free, as when she was a slave in a good family.

"Better, ma'am, better," was her energetic reply; and added, "I do not believe that God intended any human being to be slave of another."

The woman was remarkably happy and contented with her present life.

There were very few passengers in the saloon. Α couple of handsome elderly ladies sat and conversed together, in an under tone, about life and its incidents. They spoke of the fate of friends and acquaintances; they spoke of the death-bed of a Godless man, who had departed this life without one backward glance of regret for the past, without one glance of hope for the future; they made reflections on all this: their countenances were mild and serious.

Two young girls, from twelve to fifteen years of age, meantime rushed in and out of the room, like wild young colts or calves for the first time turned out into the pastures. I took care to keep out of their way. The elderly ladies looked at them.

"Wild young girls!" said one of them, mildly disapproving.

"Let them enjoy their freedom," said the other, yet more mildly, and with half a sigh; "it is now their time: life will tame them soon enough!"

But would it not, after all, be better if young girls were educated to meet the hand of the tamer with another spirit than the colt meets the bridle! The combat would then be less severe and more noble than after this freedom of the young colt.

The following morning I found myself at Baltimore, and set off thence immediately by rail-way to Harper's Ferry. I had heard so much of the beautiful scenery of this part of Virginia, that I determined to go there to enjoy the effect of "the most sublime scenery of Virginia," as it was called.

The rail-way train flew onward, making innumerable windings and turnings along the wooded and romantic banks of a little river, with such abruptness and irregularity as to remind me of a terrified cow, and to make me fear every moment lest it should be swung into the river. But we arrived, without let or hinderance, at the little hamlet at Harper's Ferry.

Here I remained for three days alone and unknown, enjoying greatly my solitary rambles over the hills, and in that romantic region. It reminded me of certain hilly districts of Dalecarlia, and still more of Münden Valley in Germany, where the Rivers Fulda and Verra meet, because the rock formation and the vegetation are similar in these two cases. Here it is that the lively, sportive Shenandoah and the grave Potomac meet and unite to form the great Potomac River. Shenandoah is a gay and good young maiden, dancing carelessly along between verdant banks-laughing, leaping in the innocent enjoyment of life. Potomac is a gentleman of much older years, who advances onward solemnly and silently from the forests of the West, with slow movement and shallow water. He meets the gay Shenandoah, and draws her silently to him

self. She falls thoughtlessly into his bosom, and is swallowed up there. The rushing, dancing Shenandoah is no longer heard of, no longer seen; it is all over with her gay temper; it is all over with herself; she has become Mrs. Potomac. Mr. Potomac, however, extends himself with increasing, swelling waters, and equally calmly, but more majestically, continues his course to Washington, and thence to the sea. Poor little Shenandoah! I am fond of her, and feel sympathy for her; and though I gladly saw from the heights the Potomac advancing onward in calm, profound sweeps through the western highlands, I yet preferred going down into the valley south of the mountain, where the Shenandoah, still a maiden, dances onward among the rocks which crowned her bacchante head with the most beautiful garlands and crowns of foliage, or beneath lofty trees, in which flocks of little yellow birds, like Canary birds, flew and twittered gayly. The country was here infinitely pretty and romantic, and the waters of the Shenandoah, although shallow, are as clear as crystal.

Lower down the river, on this same side, is a gun manufactory, which just at this moment is in a state of great activity. The houses of the work-people lie on the hillside-small houses, well built, all alike, and from which the views were very beautiful.

"We are all equal here," said a young woman to me in one of these dwellings, into which I had gone to rest; 66 our circumstances are all alike.”

They were very good; and yet she did not look happy. We sat in a parlor where every thing was comfortable, and even elegant. The young woman had a little boy in her arms, and yet she was not happy; that was evident. Something in her mild, sorrowful expression told me that she was not happily married.

In another house I made the acquaintance of an older woman, whose countenance bore the impress of the deepest sorrow. She had lost her husband, and he had been