er, still dissatisfied; and South Carolina, as well as Mississippi, demand a secession from the Union, and Carolina, it is said, is seriously preparing for war! But this is foolish, and can only be injurious to the Palmetto State, who will find no coadjutors; and one among the many signifies nothing, and can accomplish nothing.

Among the many subjects which here interest the public mind at the present moment is the ultimate confession of the murderer, Professor Webster, and his execution. But where throughout the United States has not his criminal history been the subject of conversation? In Charleston and Savannah, as well as in Boston and New York, the public has universally given the closest attention to the trial-old gentlemen, young girls, all, in short, were either for or against Professor Webster; and a most charming young girl of fifteen, in Savannah, had taken it into her head that a Mr. Littlefield, Webster's principal accuser, was the murderer of Parkman, and not Webster; and she argued for her view of the subject both earnestly and spiritedly. In the mean time, Webster, after innumerable lies and prevarications, confessed himself to be the murderer-confessed, it is said, in the belief that he should receive mercy, as he maintained that the murder was done in self-defense. Many circumstances, however, seemed to contradict this, and Webster throughout the whole affair had shown himself to be such an unconscionable prevaricator, that this part of his confession obtained no credence, and he was condemned to execution by the judge of Massachusetts. The Unitarian minister, Mr. Peabody, prepared him for death, which he met with resignation. His wife and children, who, to the very last, believed him innocent, have behaved most admirably. They work for their maintenance, and have declined the pecuniary assistance which the widow of the murdered man had most nobly offered to them. One of the daughters is married, and resides in Madeira; another is en

gaged to be married, and it is said that the whole family will leave America for Madeira. I rejoice that they are able to leave the country.

Spite of this murder having been clearly proved, and of the low tone of morality in Webster, yet is the feeling in these Northern States so strongly opposed to capital punishment, that it has expressed itself, even in this case. by various protests. One family, residing in a house just opposite the prison, within the inner court of which the criminal suffered, removed during that time from their house, and left a placard on the door with these words

"OPPOSED TO CAPITAL PUNISHMENT."

Coney Island, August 26th. Again by the sea! Again I inhale the fresh breezes of the great sea in company with my excellent friends. Marcus is well, and enjoys life here. Baby improves every day. The place is solitary, and has a wild charm The moon shines magnificently over the sea, which roars loudly, agitated by the wind. I walk on the shore in the evening with Marcus, and in doors Rebecca tells me in the clear moonlight occurrences in the history of the inner light, which prove the wonderful life and guiding of that inner light, where the soul truly waits for it with quiet, introverted attention.

Small fires, in rows and circles, shine out on the sands by the sea, or among the trees on the shore. There are brushwood fires in which the "clams," a kind of large mussel, are roasted for suppers on the sands. They are delicate in flavor, and to my taste superior to oysters. The weather is cool, and bathing refreshing. We all enjoy ourselves, are all happy.

Before I left Brooklyn, we heard, one Sunday, a sermon from young Mr. Beecher. He had lately expressed his feelings very strongly on the subject of the Fugitive Slave Law, in an evangelical newspaper of which he is a coVOL. I.-A A

editor. Several of his congregation had taken great of fense at this, and Beecher now delivered from the pupit his confession of faith as regarded the duty of a minister with reference to his congregation and his conscience. It was in few but powerful words, as follows: "If the law of God and my own conscience bid me to do one thing, and you, the people of the congregation, say that I must not obey it, but you, if I would remain quiet among you -in that case, then, I must go! And I will go, if 1 can not remain quiet among you with a good conscience." The chapel was full to overflowing, the congregation as profoundly serious as the minister. no make-believe, with them all. that Beecher will have to go.

It was reality, and But there no danger He is too much esteemed

and beloved for them not to concede to him, when they know that he is in reality right, at least in intention, if not always in manner.

August 27th. I now, my beloved child, am preparing to set off to the great West, which stands before me in a kind of mythological nebulosity, half mist, half splendor, and about which I know nothing rightly, excepting that it is great, great, great! How? Why? In what way? Whether it is peopled by gods or giants, giants of frost and hobgoblins, or by all those old mythological gentry together-I have yet to discover. That Thor and Loke yet wrestle vigorously in that fairy-tale-like Utgaerd, is however, what I quite anticipate, and that the goblins are at home there also, that I know, because of certain "spiritual rappings or knockings," as they are called, of which I have heard and read some very queer things since I have been in this country. These are a standing subject in the newspapers at this time, and are treated partly in jest and partly in earnest. But I shall certainly find Iduna with the apple of the Hesperides in that Eden of the setting sun. Do not the Alleghany Mountains and Niagara stand as giant watchers at its entrance, to open

the portals of that new garden of Paradise, the latest home of the human race? Those glorious cherubim forbid not the entrance; they invite it, because they are great and beautiful.

The people of Europe pour in through the cities of the eastern coast. Those are the portals of the outer court; but the West is the garden where the rivers carry along with them gold, and where stands the tree of Life and of Death. There the tongue of the serpent and the voice of God are again heard by a new humanity.

That great enigmatical land of the West, with its giant rivers, and giant falls, and giant lakes; with its valley of the Mississippi and its Rocky Mountains, and its land of gold and the Pacific Ocean; with its buffaloes and its golden humming-birds; the land which nourishes states as the children of men, and where cities grow great in a human life; where the watch-word of existence is growth, progress! this enigmatic, promised land, this land of the future, I shall now behold!

I long for it as for the oracle which shall give a response to many of my spirit's questions. My little basket is filled with bananas and peaches, my traveling-fairy is with me, and the last letter of my beloved. God bless my precious sister, her sea-bathing and her friends, and for her sake also, her sister and her friend, FREDRIKA.

9.

P.S.-How fervently with my whole heart do I thank my beloved mamma for that permission, so kindly given, for me to remain over the winter in America. Those kind, dear words will accompany me on my pilgrimage like my mother's blessing. And be not uneasy for me, my sweet mamma. Human beings continue to be infinitely kind to my mother's daughter; and I meet with good friends and good homes every where. Excepting in my own country I could not find better homes, nor experience kinder care, than here. I can not describe how thankful I am for this journey, and the effect which it has

on me. May I only be able some time to develop its gar nered treasure in my Swedish home, and with my be loved ones!

LETTER XXIII.

Albany, on the Hudson, Sept. 2d.

HERE, my little heart, amid a regular deluge of rain, which prevents me from seeing any thing of the capital of the Empire State and its Senate House, I continue my conversation with you, that is to say, in writing, for the silent communion goes on all the same.

In my last letter from Brooklyn, I told you, I think, how that my friends, the S.'s, would go with me as far as the Shaker Community at New Lebanon. And on an unspeakably fine day I again ascended that beautiful "Hudson, again saw its wild, romantic Highlands, its rich populated shores; saw the turrets of the Downings' house glancing forth from amid its wooded grounds, cast toward it a look of love, and-enjoyed the life with nature and Marcus, Rebecca, and Eddy, as we progressed in that magnificent, comfortable steam-boat. Toward evening we reached the little city of Hudson, where we landed, and then took the stage, which in about two hours' time brought us to the Springs of New Lebanon, a celebrated watering-place half an English mile from the Shaker village, and Marcus and I walked in the beautiful evening to look at it. We saw some pale yellow, two-storied wooden houses, built in good proportion, and with tiled roofs, standing on green slopes, surrounded at some distance by yet higher hills, all covered with wood. It was a very lovely and romantically idyllian scene. The views from the houses were extensive, and the glass panes in the windows were large. Life at New Lebanon did not look to me so gloomy or so contracted as I had imagined.