Chapter VI: Section 2: The congress shall have power to enforce this article by (1)

appropriate legislation.

The fifteenth amendment was proposed to the legislatures of the several states by the fortieth Congress on February 27, 1869, and was declared, in a proclamation of the Secretary of State, dated March 30, 1870, to have been ratified by the constitutional number of states, and to have “become valid to all intents and purposes as part of the Constitution of the United States.”

AFTER EMANCIPATION.

The history of the war shows that one hundred and seventy-eight thousand nine hundred and seventy-five negroes, took part either in the army or the navy of the United States, and the losses these troops sustained from sickness, wounds, killed in battle and other casualties incident to war, were sixty-eight thousand one hundred and seventy-eight.

The war was over in the spring of 1865. Then came the reconstruction period, and in 1876, the Democratic party, most influential in the Southern States, unqualifiedly accepted in its national platform all the results of the war, including the war amendments to the Constitution.

Yet, while the race progressed with marvellous rapidity through educational facilities eagerly sought for, and secured to them from private and public sources, the condition of the freed slaves and their descendants has not improved so materially as was anticipated.

President Lincoln’s solicitude has not been proven false or exaggerated, “both the whites and negroes” _have_ suffered “by living in association with each other.”

The tendency is to divide the whites from the blacks, the whites avoiding those sections where the races are placed on an equality in labor. The large plantations are being let out to colored tenants while the landlord seeks a more congenial environment in the cities, the poor whites seeking occupation in the manufacturing industries which have arisen and are being developed.

It is asserted that the number of counties in the South in which the negroes outnumber the whites, counties containing the best cotton, tobacco, rice and sugar lands, has risen from 237 in 1860, to 279 in 1900, and that within these counties there are, on the average, 130 negroes to every 100 whites, and that in 1860, there were 71 counties in which the negroes were more than twice as numerous as the whites, which number in 1900, had increased to 108, and 92 per cent of the colored race is found in the states which were in rebellion in 1861.

Notwithstanding the investment with citizenship which was supposed to remove from the slave the disqualification of having no standing in court, from the time of emancipation to the present, negro lynchings in the southern and western portions of the United States have shocked the civilized world by their frequency and cruelty; victims of both sexes having been burnt at the stake without any pretense of a form of trial, while local juries were unwilling to indict or condemn those who thus transgressed constitutional law.

The Fourteenth Amendment has been virtually annulled, and the white vote is apportioned on a fictitious representation, and based upon a black majority.

Measures, more or less disguised as to their purpose, have been passed by several southern states, tending to disfranchise the negroes, showing an inclination to gradually return to former conditions, until they have once more assumed their original bold attitude, and in the Fifty-eighth Congress, which assembled December 7, 1903, notice was given that the United States Senator from Tennessee would introduce a bill for the repeal of the Fifteenth Amendment, “with a view to a permanent solution of the vexing negro question, by eliminating the enfranchised negro as a political factor.” It was said that the Senator would be supported by every Southern member in Congress, and not a few members of other sections of the Union. An ex-governor of Virginia was quoted as saying in New York, that there is only one solution, and that is that the Nation must recede from its position on negro suffrage, and plans to that effect have been announced in several southern states.

AN APPEAL TO THE COUNTRY.

On their own behalf, in a mass meeting held in Boston, November 7, 1903, forty years after Emancipation, and three years after the outside limit of time, 1900, set in the resolution recommending the co-operation of the Federal Government in the gradual abolishment of slavery, with compensation, passed in March, 1862, the following appeal, involving the rights of 10,000,000 colored people of the United States, was addressed to the country by the Boston Negro Suffrage League:—

“We appeal to the conscience of the country to rally to our help, to
restore to us rights bought by us with a great price, the price of
nearly three centuries of faithful service and of blood shed by us in
four wars. We appeal to the American people in their strength, to have
regard for us in our weakness, and to grant us fair play and equal
opportunities with others, to make the most and the best of ourselves
in their midst. We call upon a Christian nation to treat us as fellow
Christians, as human beings. We implore a boastfully free republic to
save us from re-enslavement, to mete out to us even-handed justice,
and to throw over us everywhere the impartial protection of her laws
and Constitution.”

DEATH OF LINCOLN.

“So he grew up, a destined work to do,
And lived to do it: four long-suffering years.
Ill-fate, ill-feeling, ill-report, lived through,
And then he heard the hisses changed to cheers,

The taunts to tribute, the abuse to praise,
And took both with the same unwavering mood:
Till, as he came on light, from darkling days,
And seemed to touch the goal from where he stood,

A felon hand, between the goal and him,
Reached from behind his back, a trigger prest—
And those perplexed and patient eyes were dim,
Those gaunt, long-laboring limbs were laid to rest.

· · · · ·

The Old World and the New, from sea to sea,
Utter one voice of sympathy and shame!
Sore heart, so stopped when it at last beat high,
Sad life, cut short just as its triumph came.”

—_London Punch_, May 6, 1865.

Re-elected President of the United States for another term of four years, and having seen the termination of the war, Abraham Lincoln died in Washington by the hand of an assassin. He was shot by J. Wilkes Booth, a member of a family of actors, in a private box of Ford’s Theatre, a few minutes past ten o’clock on the evening of April 14, 1865, and was carried across the street to a private house, 516 Tenth Street, where he died at 7.22 the next morning without recovering consciousness. Reverent and devout by nature, his utterances had often impressed the people with a sense of his own firm reliance on the Divine arm. “I have been driven many times to my knees,” he once remarked, “by the overwhelming conviction that I had nowhere else to go. My own wisdom and that of all about me seemed insufficient for that day.” So when the bewildering news of his death burst upon the world, that was the characteristic most forcibly brought to mind, and “God lives” was the chosen message flashed over the wires from a high state official to quell the tumult of indignation which thrilled every corner of the great Republic. At his obsequies the funeral procession was so long that the head of it had begun to disperse at the Capitol, before the rear had passed the Treasury Department on its way from the Executive Mansion.

At the cemetery in Springfield, Illinois, where he was buried May 4, 1865, the procession being under the immediate charge of Major General Joseph Hooker, Bishop Simpson quoted his words spoken in relation to the slave power, in 1859, beginning “Broken by it, I, too, may be, bow to it I never will.”

PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS.

On the evening of April 16th, just before sunset, when the news of the assassination came to our camp, during an exhausting march from Appomattox Court House after Lee’s surrender, to guard the railroad at Nottaway C. H., a courier rode up with a despatch for General Charles S. Wainwright of whose staff I was a member, announcing the event in a few words.

The effect upon us was tremendous, we could not believe that it was true, and I thought at the time that it must lead to some uprising or revolution. It was a shock to both soldiers and citizens that they could hardly realize. But his work was done, his life was complete, and he was allowed to die in all the glory and dignity of an unselfish triumph.

In a building corner of Broadway and 10th Street, New York, between what was then Stewart’s great dry goods establishment and Grace Church, I had from 1874 to 1879, a little den. It looked, like all my rooms, very cozy, with a medley of boyish, college, and army trophies hanging about, and endless souvenirs of travel and previous years experience on the walls, and in graceful confusion. Many of my old half discarded things had fallen into place, and I wrote under the light of a Russian double candlestick with a soft green shade, while my gas was being put in order. My old army toggery I had arranged in a trophy—sword, belt, sash, cap, pistol, spurs, blouse of Second Lieutenant of Artillery (Fifth Massachusetts Battery, Light Artillery) with the holes through the right sleeve and the blood on the lining, corps and other military badges, etc., and as a background the American flag, in silk, given me by some dear friends with whom I often stayed at Weston, Mass., and which I carried with me in the army, and had suspended in my winter quarters on the Rappahannock River, Va., 1863-’4. As I now look at them I can see on my sword knot the very same crape which was twisted round it by my servant “Joe,” when all the army went into mourning for the death of Abraham Lincoln. It is to me a precious relic, and one such as I imagine there are few preserved.

In April, 1879, I wrote what follows in a letter to the Boston _Transcript_:—

“The writer paid a visit yesterday to that remarkable picture now on exhibition at Doll and Richards’, 2 Park Street, (Boston) by Albion H. Bicknell, representing President Lincoln at the dedication of the cemetery at Gettysburg. Oh, that word! What a story does it tell! It was the central turning point of the war, just as Bull Run was the beginning, and Appomattox the end.

As you look at that wonderful painting, and gaze at the different men there—men who were towers of strength for the Union,—you find, as you count them off one by one, that more than two-thirds of those who were there that bright autumn afternoon, November 19, 1863, have ere this passed on,—Seward, Andrew, Everett, Meade, Chase, Wilson, Stanton, Morton, Greeley, Sumner, Welles, Johnson, Hamlin, Fessenden,—are with us no more.

The landscape, with the trees and the sky and the flavor of autumn in the air, is admirable. The grouping is simple, natural and effective, and the likenesses of the different persons are remarkable. There they are, honest and earnest American citizens, in the prosaic dress of the day,—real, not ideal,—some few of them in uniform, but a majority in the habiliments of civil life. You can almost catch the serious words of President Lincoln, just as he delivered them in that terse speech which will go down to posterity as his masterpiece of oratory.”

STATUE AT SPRINGFIELD, ILL.—

GRANT’S LONGEST SPEECH.

Early in the year 1874, a bronze statue of Abraham Lincoln was placed over his grave at Springfield, Illinois. It was unveiled with appropriate ceremonies and in the presence of over 25,000 people. Prayer was offered by Bishop Wayman of the (colored) Methodist Church, and an oration was delivered by Senator Oglesby of Illinois. President Ulysses S. Grant, Vice President Henry Wilson, ex-Vice President Schuyler Colfax and General William T. Sherman were present, and all made brief addresses, that of General Grant said to be the longest speech he ever delivered. It was as follows:—

“Mr. Chairman, Ladies and Gentlemen: On an occasion like the present,
it is a duty on my part to bear testimony to the great and good
qualities of the patriotic man whose earthly remains now rest beneath
the dedicated monument. It was not my fortune to make the personal
acquaintance of Mr. Lincoln till the beginning of the last year of the
great struggle for national existence. During those years of trouble
and despondency, amongst the many patriotic men of the country,
Abraham Lincoln never for a moment doubted that the final result would
be in favor of peace, union, and freedom to every race in this broad
land. His faith in an all-wise Providence directing our arms to this
final result, was the faith of the Christian that his Redeemer liveth.
Amid obloquy, personal abuse and hate undisguised, which were given
vent to without restraint through the press, upon the stump, and in
private circles, he remained the same staunch, unyielding servant of
the people, never exhibiting revengeful feelings towards his
traducers, he, rather, pitied them, and hoped for their own sakes, and
the good name of their posterity, they might desist. It did not occur
to him for a single moment that the man Lincoln was being assailed,
but that a treasonable spirit, one waiting to destroy the fairest
government the sun ever shone upon, was giving vent to itself on him,
as the chief executive of the nation, only because he was such
executive. As a lawyer in your midst, he would have avoided all that
slander, for his life was a pure and simple one, and no doubt he would
have been a much happier man; but who can tell what might have been
the fate of the nation but for the pure, unselfish, and wise
administration of Lincoln?

From March, 1864, to the day when the hand of an assassin opened the
grave for Mr. Lincoln when President of the United States, my personal
relations with him were as close as the nature of our respective
duties would permit. To know him personally was to love and respect
him for his great qualities of head and heart, and for his patience
and patriotism.

With all his disappointments from failures on the part of those to
whom he intrusted command, and treachery on the part of those who had
gained his confidence but to betray it, I never heard him utter a
complaint, nor cast censure for bad conduct or bad faith. It was his
nature to find excuses for his adversaries. In his death the nation
lost its greatest head. In his death the South lost its most just
friend.”

Lincoln said to Grant, when as Lieutenant General he placed him in charge of all the Armies:—

“The particulars of your plans I neither know, nor seek to know. You
are vigilant and self-reliant; and, pleased with this, I wish not to
obtrude any restraints nor constraints upon you.”

* * * * *

Boston is fortunate in having in Park Square the emancipation group by Thomas Ball, of Lincoln breaking the fetters of a negro slave, the gift of Hon. Moses Kimball to the city.

In Chicago, October 1, 1893, during the World’s Columbian Exposition, I went to see the statue of Abraham Lincoln by Saint Gaudens in Lincoln Park. It is splendid in every way, one of the finest certainly in the country and perhaps in the world, and in 1903, a bronze statue of Lincoln, cast in heroic mould with uplifted arm, was erected on a hill in a town in Illinois from which point it may be seen for twenty miles in every direction.

The theatre building where he was shot was never afterwards used for entertainments, but for many years contained a collection of curios from the battle fields, which was subsequently removed to the National Museum, and it has since been attached to the War Department as an office building for a bureau.

August 5, 1901, I visited the house where he died, now containing the Oldroyd Lincoln Memorial Collection, consisting of over 3000 articles pertaining to the martyred President.

CHAPTER THIRD.
BRUSSELS. THANKSGIVING IN BERLIN. WILNA.

“This is the place. Stand still, my steed,
Let me review the scene,
And summon from the shadowy Past
The forms that once have been.”
—_Henry W. Longfellow._
“_A Gleam of Sunshine_,” edition of 1864.

LETTER TO MY MOTHER.

Berlin, Nov. 29, 1866,
Or, in other words, Thanksgiving Day.

I happen to be aware of this fact, Mama, because yesterday, strolling about the Berlin gallery we met first Mr. Urbino (Dealer in choice foreign books in Boston) and afterwards Mr. Kellogg, (My brother Willie’s travelling friend) the latter of whom told us that all the Americans were to have a big Thanksgiving dinner at some hotel here, and so we also put our names down, and mean to do “the eminent American.”

Almost twelve and not breakfasted as yet! How lazy one does get, and we have tickets to see the Schloss at twelve, precisely.

Well then, to begin,—We really left Paris on Saturday, arriving at Brussels in time to take a cup of tea, a chicken cold, and retire, and you have no idea how nice it is again to be on the move!

WILNA.
]

Sunday, a drizzly day, we drove all the way out to Waterloo amidst the hoots of the “rag, tag and bobtail” of the villages taking us for British tourists. We scanned the scene of conflict with military gaze, bought a cane and a lunch, chaffed the natives, and returned in time to see Déjazet the celebrated old actress perform in a charming little piece. Monday we strolled about the town, looked at a few pictures, flattened our noses on the shop windows, very pretty they are, too, that is, the things within, and would find ourselves suddenly bringing up at some grand old cathedral, or a fascinating marketplace, with statues to old “swells” whose heads had been discontinued there; gilt-edged houses in which the ancient guilds and clubs held forth, crooked streets, high hills, etc. etc.

That evening after dinner we billeted ourselves for Berlin viâ Cologne, and I soon had an excellent opportunity of airing my execrable German, and thanking myself for the little I possess.

Well, here we are in Berlin, the city of music and philosophy, and here is Charlie,—by the way, the best travelling companion imaginable,—ready to descend for breakfast.

P. M. I am now in my evening harness with just time to finish this before going to dine. Yesterday we went to the Gallery, which I liked exceedingly, although there are only a few real masterpieces, many of which I knew well from your book “The Berlin Gallery,” at home. The Murillo is perhaps the finest. The building itself is charmingly arranged, all the different schools in order, and the temperature just right, which you won’t find in the Italian galleries. We then sauntered along to Unter den Linden, and caused a great sensation. Whether our reefing jackets and little hats and blue scarfs, or our truly distingué and _chic_,—tell Willie the word is still a favorite in Paris,—appearance were the cause, I know not. I can here say that the Berliners are not exactly “swells,” though big on metaphysics, and now on diplomacy and war; certain it is, however, that many were the smiles bestowed upon us as we gaily marched along.

In the evening we saw a very good ballet at the Victoria Theatre. Today we have not accomplished much except the King’s old palace, and got fur lined boots, very necessary for travelling, and filled our pockets with roubles. Tomorrow we go to see the paintings in company with Mr. Thies and probably in the evening start for Königsberg, where I will get you an amber bracelet. The weather is quite mild now, but I think after leaving Wilna it will be fresh enough. It is rather an odd city, this Berlin, with a feeble little stream called the Spree, just under our window. Charlie sends love to all. Good night, for I go to the feast of Bacchus,—roast turkey and plumb pudding.

N. A.

* * * * *

Professor Thies, whom I met in Berlin, had been curator of the Gray Collection of Engravings at Harvard College, and showed to a party of us in the second term of my Junior year the famous prints, collected by Francis Colley Gray principally abroad, which he bequeathed to the College, and which were then in one of the alcoves of Gore Hall, or the Library, up stairs. Our party consisted of Professor Longfellow and his son Charlie, George B. Shattuck and his sister, my sister and myself. It was a great treat and gave me my first real knowledge of art. We examined all the engravings, taking several weeks, and the remarks of Professor Thies were full of knowledge and charm. It was an education not only in the art of different kinds of engraving, but of painting and sculpture, as many of them were copies of the masterpieces of these two branches of art. The Collection was transferred to the Boston Museum of Fine Arts when it was opened, and now forms a part of the Fogg Museum at Harvard.

BERLIN IN 1866.

In Berlin, the palaces, houses and stores on the principal thoroughfares, stand before you as dull and unsentimental looking as the Prussian sentinels. The people whom you meet, while appearing as respectable and worthy as church deacons, have no elegance nor grace about them, they come and go on every side as gravely and soberly as is permitted to human beings, with nothing disorderly or gay in their manner. They impress you all as being in what is called “comfortable circumstances,” wearing a look of contented commonplaceness, and with the most unbounded respect for things as they are in Prussia, from the Kaiser down, and a corresponding ignorance of and pity for the situation in other less favored countries. There is an egotistical patriotism in this which is delicious, and which must have its merits, but it certainly makes its supporters more objects of curiosity than of interest to any outsiders, with whom they may come in contact. But, on the other hand, there is a compactness in the forward march of the North Germans as a nation, which is irresistible, and which is certain to accomplish great results, and for it the philosophical student of history cannot but feel an admiration which he does not accord to the more attractive and mercurial inhabitants of other countries. He respects intensely the Prussians, but he does not care to live among them.

The next morning after our arrival in Berlin we sauntered forth to see all there was in the city, and to provide ourselves with a complete outfit of furs: caps, coats and boots. The weather was cold and we would need these protections for the rest of our journey, and we knew there was no better market in Europe for obtaining them of good quality and at reasonable prices than in the city of Frederick the Great.

THANKSGIVING DINNER.

Wilna, Dec. 3, 1866.

My dear Mamma:

I begin you a letter here as we have some time before the train starts for St. Petersburg which I will finish there, and will take up my story at Berlin, where I left myself just going to dinner.

The dinner was quite successful and amusing: about one hundred Americans of all styles collected together, one pretty girl, Miss R. of Springfield, my classmate Green (The distinguished oculist Dr. J. Orne Green.), lots of old professional buffers, and a good deal of ruff skuff in long coats and red scarfs, and several military men. Charlie and I got an old Russian gentleman between us and talked philosophy and _la vie Russe_.

The minister, Mr. Wright, presided, and went through very gracefully the rather difficult performance of drinking the health of the President!

The Opera House at Berlin is quite stunning, and they have the best female singer in the world, Lucca. We did not have the good fortune to hear her. Berlin is ahead of all the world in music. In other respects I think it rather a dull city, but then, we have not as yet shaken off the glitter of Paris from our garments.

STATUE OF KANT. KÖNIGSBURG, 1866.
]

The next day we went to Königsberg on the Baltic, where we passed twenty-four hours, and visited the Schloss where the Teutonic Knights in ye ancient time held their revels, and where later the King and Queen of Prussia lived when Napoleon captured Berlin and made the peace of Tilsit. There is an old modern church in which the numberless columns almost prevent your seeing across, and a very old cathedral, with lots of interesting monuments.

Yesterday we came here, a flourishing Polish town before Russia “gobbled it up,” and go through the experience of having our trunks and passports examined every few hours, although, when they find we are Americans, they are very civil. They can’t quite make us out, and look upon us as curiosities, especially stopping at Wilna. America seems to them so far off. The Russian surveillance is very strict in the Polish cities, more so than in Russia proper, and it was here that lots of Poles were hung only a few years ago. Napoleon slept in the palace here the night after Alexander left it.

It is so awfully funny, this first taste of Russia, little sleighs just holding one man all covered with furs, and a big hoop over the horse like the pictures in our geography,—narrow streets with crowds of Jews, great bulb like steeples to the churches, and everything different. They keep the houses so warm that you almost suffer. Well, I must close for tonight.

N. A.

MY FAIRY SLEIGH.

The spring previous to this Russian journey I received the following note from Mrs. Harrison Gray Otis, on receiving a photograph of myself in my fancy sleigh:—

“Mrs. Harrison Gray Otis presents her regards to Mr. Appleton, and
very much thanks him for the interesting photograph which she had
already admired. She hopes he will have more snow the next winter to
enjoy his fairy like equipage, and wishes him health and happiness as
a reward for his wounds in the service of his country.”

Mt. Vernon Street,
14th March, 1866.

My pretty sleigh had the appearance of a Russian one as I had arranged what looked like a “duga” over the saddle of the horse, with a waving plume. I once drove down State street in it with my colored groom, the same old “Joe” who was with me in the army, sitting behind in the rumble, and from its striking appearance, with the white fox robes, made a mild sensation.

STOP OVER AT WILNA.

We broke the journey from Berlin to St. Petersburg, which is long and uninteresting, by stopping over twenty-four hours at Wilna, once the capital of Lithuania, afterwards an important Polish and at present an unimportant Russian town. We thought we ought not to jump into the middle of Russia at once; we ought to look a little at the edges, and study the ways and customs of the provincials, which we were sure would be curious and worth seeing, so it was decided that we pass a day at Wilna.

SINGLE SLEIGH.
]

There is probably no part of the civilized world where the annoyances about passports and baggage are greater than in conquered Poland. Everyone who enters the land is looked upon with suspicion, and the difficulty is not by any means over when you get in, for there is the same trouble to get out again, sometimes even worse. But few tourists stop there, and so any well-dressed stranger seen is an object of curiosity, and is most carefully watched by the police. Particularly is this system of espionage strong in the small cities, and one’s life there by it becomes a burden.

It was late at night when we arrived at the depot. Our passports were carefully scrutinized, our names recorded, the name of the hotel where we intended to stop was taken down, and we were told that owing to the lateness of the hour our trunks would not be examined that night, but that we must come for the ceremony at ten o’clock the next morning. We were also informed that we could not leave the city without again having our passports examined and the proper _visa_ put on.

THE RUSSIAN BEGGAR.

When we looked out of our hotel window the next morning the street in front was filled with beggars of every description, who on seeing us at the window began going through every imaginable kind of pantomime which might appeal to the pity or the pride of those to whom they were addressed. Perhaps of all the types of beggars in the world, the Polish Jew is the most striking. His long greasy hair, his longer and greasier coat, his trowsers tucked in his boots and his peculiar cap, are distinguishing traits. And then how he can pile on the agony in facial expression and gesture! No imagined grief of Dante’s Inferno can excel what the Polish Jew would make you believe are his sufferings as he stands thus piteously addressing you. For a handful of copper coins flung among the crowd, they fought hard and long.

A TOUR OF THE TOWN.

After, with some difficulty, getting possession of our trunks, and showing that they contained no infernal machines, nor suspicious looking insurrectionary pamphlets, we jumped into a sleigh, as the ground here was well covered with snow, and wrapping ourselves up in our _shubes_ started off on a tour of inspection through the town.

There is something very fascinating in the first suspicion of the Orient as seen in the outlying frontier towns of the Sclavonic race. The bright colored churches with their bulbous steeples albeit dull and in miniature, give a suggestive hint of what the glories of Moscow and Constantinople will be. The queer costumes of the people, neither Asiatic or European, and their manners in which the patriarchal reverence for authority of the East is tinged with the curiosity and thirst for knowledge of the West, make you regard them as a sort of stepping stone or connecting link between Eastern and Western customs and civilization. And then it is all so different from life in the other European capitals, where each one is more or less a stilted copy of the others. Here you have the mixture of the European and Asiatic elements in such a peculiar way, that something astonishing strikes you continually, and the social relations are so vague that real adventures are likely to befall you in all the classes of society.

The rough wooden sleigh in which we were whisked through the place, with its brightly painted _duga_ over the horse’s head, the light ornamented harness, with the strange dress of the driver, made visions of winter pleasures in St. Petersburg fill our imaginations, and we thought what a sensation we would make could we only be transferred just as we were into the Harlem Lane!

THE RUSSIAN HORSE, SLEIGH AND COACHMAN.

Your sleigh follows you round by day and night, always within call, and so, enveloped in the dark furs of Astrachan or Siberia, you sally forth on your round of conquest. The horses are superb, very fast trotters, with high knee action, and holding their heads gracefully; the favorite colors are black or dappled gray. The ordinary sleigh, that of the _grand seigneur_, such, indeed, as the Emperor almost always uses, as well as those you pick up anywhere in the streets, are not unlike our well-known Portland cutters. Between the regular seat and the dash-board is a little narrow seat on which the driver perches, with one foot inside, and the other in a sort of stirrup outside, from which he braces himself to hold the horse. A fur robe, or rather a thick cloth robe trimmed with a deep border of fur, comes over you and is fastened around you, and hooked at the corners of the sleigh in such a way that you cannot tumble out. The sleighs are very plain, generally of varnished wood, not even painted. The coachman is a type quite different from what you will see in any other country. The most stylish are stout, impressive looking men of middle age, with a long beard like a French _sapeur_. They wear a dark, thick garment, which in shape I can only compare to a dressing-gown, fastened around the waist with a brilliant sash, and then falling nearly to the feet in great plaits.

The fashionable owners of these turnouts are seated behind their drivers as comfortable as possible, and take as much interest in racing on the road and passing those about them, as we do when handling the ribbons ourselves. By far the most elegant turnout is the single sleigh with a trotter in the shafts and a horse on each side, making three abreast, galloping along. They are trained specially for this when young, and they do it well; bending their heads down to the right or left, as it may be, and rushing along madly. The Prefect of Police of St. Petersburg had a stunning team of that kind.

Besides all I have mentioned there are many handsome double-seated sleighs, with a flunkey standing up behind on a board near the ground in some gorgeous livery, and cocked hat with turkey feathers of different colors, like a major general’s.

I must not forget to mention the net that goes from the horse’s back to the dash-board of the sleigh, to prevent the snow from being kicked in your face, a most sensible idea, and one we could well copy in America. These nets are of brilliant colors, red, blue, or green, to match the livery and the sleigh, and the effect is fine as they float in the wind. The winter of 1870-’1, after my return from Russia, I used the net to keep the snow from being kicked in my face, a blue one, which I bought in St. Petersburg. A young fellow who saw me passing and did not understand what it was for, cried out:—“Look at that man, he’s afraid the flies will bite his horse!”—Not a bad remark for mid-winter, and I came to the conclusion that Russian ideas of sleighing were not altogether appreciated in America.

AT WILNA. THE CHIEF OF POLICE.

The most amusing scene of our stop over at Wilna, was at the office of the Chief of Police. To arrange our passports for departing we went to the office during the afternoon, but as it was _jour de fête_, as it generally is, in honor of some saint, the bureau was closed and the head official was absent. In consideration of the great regard Russia felt for the United States, the second in command agreed to attend to our case, as we were in a hurry to leave the city, with the understanding that it must be submitted to his chief for approval. The interview was characteristic and ludicrous. The official spoke a little bad German, nothing else except Russian. We had both neglected our German studies and only knew a few phrases, sufficient to demand the necessities of life in travelling. The gaps were filled up with gestures, and the interrogatory of name, age, residence, occupation, went on slowly and unintelligibly enough until the hotel keeper, having heard of the dilemma in which all parties found themselves, came to the rescue with the little French he knew and assurances of the good character of the persons on trial, affirming that he had conversed with us long at his hotel and he was certain there was nothing suspicious about us. This only confused things more, and the poor official hardly knew what to do. He was unwilling to take so great a responsibility upon himself and began to think he had got some important political offenders. It is difficult to say how the interview would have ended; it began to look as if he intended locking us up until he should have time to reflect, but fortunately the Chief of Police at this moment came in. He was a gentleman of education and delicacy of feeling, one of those polished Russian officers so often met, and what was more to the point spoke both English and French fluently. He sat down quietly at his table, and in a dignified manner saying a few words in Russian to his now abashed assistant, examined carefully the passports, and finding everything _en regle_, asked us a few simple questions, which being satisfactorily answered, he said:—

“I must apologize, gentlemen, for the annoyance to which you have been unavoidably subjected, but we poor officials have very strict orders in Polish Russia, and mistakes will sometimes arise.”

When it was time to leave we were consigned to the best attention of all the conductors and railroad officials of the line, with orders to be treated as became American princes. The train was well filled with passengers, and we took our places in carriage 722, C, _première classe_, St. Petersburgh and Warsaw Railroad.

NEVSKI PROSPECT ST. PETERSBURG.
]

CHAPTER FOURTH.
ST. PETERSBURG. TSAR ALEXANDER II.

“I shall not be particular in stating
His journey, we’ve so many tours of late,
Suppose him then at Petersburgh; suppose
That pleasant capital of painted snows:—

· · · · ·

Damsels and dances, revels, ready money,
Made ice seem paradise, and winter sunny.”
—_Lord Byron._

LETTER TO MY MOTHER.

St. Petersburg, December 5, 1866. (Continuation of letter written at Wilna.) Here we are at last, having arrived yesterday evening, and I must say that our first impressions are in the midst of difficulties, for on awakening this morning we found it actually thawing, and the streets are all filled with slosh, but the funny little sleighs rush about incessantly, and perfectly silently as there are no bells on the horses. We have been occupied today going to the banker’s where I found your letter, and to the American legation where we saw the minister, who told us that my classmate, Jeremiah Curtin, had gone only yesterday to Moscow for two or three weeks, and in looking up some kind of good apartment.

I think we shall stay here some time over Christmas, which I believe comes later in the Russian calendar than with us, and devote some time to learning Russian and continuing our French. In fact for the latter there can be no better place than here. There are only about six or seven hours of daylight now, and these we must give up to sight seeing, which I mean to do thoroughly, and to skating and sleighing. In my next I will give you a good account of Saint Petersburg and its sights.

Till then adieu.

Nathan.

TO MY SISTER.

Saint Petersburg, December 14, 1866.

... Well, isn’t it droll, here is your young brother established as a gay _flâneur_ in St. P., who means to delve into all the gayeties of the Russian life.

Our Minister, General Cassius M. Clay, (Of Kentucky, then 56 years of age.), presented Charlie and myself the other day to a most lovely Russian Princess, who lives in a gorgeous palace worth about one million roubles,—a rouble in gold is just our paper dollar. (This was true at that time when our currency was depreciated.) After going through suites of apartments, billiard room and salons, we found her in the boudoir, and she received us with such a graceful cordiality that she won both our hearts immediately, and we are now at her feet. Tomorrow General Clay is to take us to the reception of the Spanish Ambassador, as they are to give a ball soon to which he wants us to be invited. The Minister seems very inclined to be attentive and kind. We shall presently be presented in due form to the Imperial family.

Charlie and I are very comfortably established in a nice apartment with our books, and I want to stay here indefinitely. One must pass the winter somewhere, and why not here, where so few Americans have tried it?

HON. CASSIUS M. CLAY, MINISTER TO RUSSIA.
]

We have a jolly sleigh at our disposition, with a horse who rushes off like mad. Vehicles are a necessity here, where the distances are so tremendous, and no one ever walks, and you can hire excellent traps by the day, week, or month, much cheaper than taking them by the course. The sleighing has been splendid for the last week, and the Nevsky Prospect any afternoon is a sight worth seeing, filled with all kinds of sleighs. I have even seen one or two of our American cutters. All the strange equipages you read about are actually true, and the _troika_ with one horse trotting and the other two galloping is no uncommon sight. The sleighing, when it once begins, lasts right along, as there is no sun at all to melt it, the days being very short, and what little sky there is overcast. You don’t feel the cold much either as there is very little wind,—how I shiver when I think of the Mill Dam,—(The “Mill Dam Road” a favorite Boston drive.), and we are learning many a wrinkle in the art of keeping warm, which we shall bring out in America. The shops, too, are fascinating, and I expect to invest heavily during my stay in all kinds of Russian articles, Persian silks and Circassian silver, Russian amulets, and the thousand and one things which you don’t see even in the cosmopolitan shops of Paris; among others a complete Russian harness, with a cap for the driver. There is a huge bazaar, where everything can be found, built in a parallelogram, with shops on the four sides.

The most fascinating things are the hoods all the ladies wear, covering just half their little fur caps. These are made of different colored cloths with embroidery of gold or silver. The fur lined slippers, too, are not bad, but I won’t tantalize you with descriptions. As I do not anticipate coming here again soon I mean to do the thing up this time. I skated today for the first time on a pond belonging to the Russian Yacht Club, to which we have received tickets, but there were only a few there, in fact the skating does not fairly begin until the Neva Skating Club is open, which is the swell place, where all the nobility go. It is gotten up by the English, and is a large square, fenced in with pine trees planted in the ice, situated on the Neva in the city, with nice houses to put on your skates and warm yourself, very necessary here, and several times during the season they give _fêtes_ by night. We have subscription tickets for the season, and I think it will be open in a few days. But with all this we must not forget our art, and here we have the magnificent gallery of the Hermitage, one of the finest though not the best known in Europe, and we can wander a whole winter through its endless galleries without exhausting the treasures.

Sunday morning: I hope the little jacket and hat will be pleasing to Master Billy, which Mr. Burgess is to bring from Paris. I will get him a few of the Oriental and Cossack children’s dresses, which are stunning and very plentiful here, and then I think he will make a sensation on Beacon street.

Well, my dear, I must close and dispatch this. Today we are to skate on the Yacht Club Pond, as they have a _fête_ there every Sunday, and tonight at midnight is the first _bal masqué_ at the Grand Opera. “On with the dance,” and _vive la jeunesse_! Last evening we passed at the English consul’s and met some very pretty young Cossacks, quite civilized, however. Charlie sends lots of love to you both. He is now in front of the fire with his feet in the air. Well, goodbye, and pinch Billy’s cheeks for me.

Nate.

There is a pretty arrangement in Russian houses, which is not to be found elsewhere that I know of. Part of the large drawing-room, generally a corner by windows, is often fenced off by itself, raised on a platform, about a foot above the rest of the floor. Here is formed a sort of garden in the house. The light iron fence is covered with some green, flowering vine, and inside are some exotics, palms and other tropical plants, and the effect is enchanting. The ladies select this as their especial haunt, transforming it into a boudoir where they read their favorite novels, write their notes, or work at embroidery.

I made my purchases of Circassian trinkets and toys, to send home to my nephews and nieces, in the _Passage_, a much frequented place for the idlers of the town, in imitation of the Burlington Arcade in London, and the _Passage des Panoramas_ of Paris.

Those were pleasant skating parties we had on the Neva, in the open rink of the Club, where all the nobility and swells of the place came out to show their agility. Thanks to much practice and many a tumble upon the Frog Pond of Boston, I was a skillful skater, and my partners were also proficient in that difficult accomplishment. How we dashed along over the place where Peter the Great had often been paddled in his rough-hewn boat, now forward together arm-in-arm, now one backward and the other forward, each bending in time to the graceful curves of the outside edge!

TO MY MOTHER.

St. Petersburg, 27th Nov. Russian Calendar.
9th Dec. American Calendar.

My dear Mamma.

Your letter containing the tribute to Charlie Smith I found at the bank yesterday. How true and good the account of him is. You expected it would reach me in Paris, but you see we have got off before. We are getting somewhat settled here now, though we are not as yet fairly _lancés_ into the gay life. This is partly on account of the horrid weather, for ever since we have been here it has been gradually melting into slosh and the sleighing rapidly disappearing. Sudden changes are common, and today is cold again with snow falling.

GREAT SEA STREET.

We have got a very nice little apartment on the great Moscow street, just in the centre of the city, and the house opposite being very low we get as much light as is possible anywhere.

We are in a French _maison meublée_ with a very pleasant Arthur O’Leary style of _table d’hôte_, where we meet half a dozen different gentlemen from all kinds of countries, and we talk in French of the relative merits of our respective nationalities. In fact, we do more French talking here than in Paris. In the afternoon before dinner we take a lesson in Russian, our teacher using French as the basis of instruction, and I presume by the time I leave Russia, I shall be unable to speak any other language. It is considerable difficult though, but I go on the principle of learning everything.

BOLSHAJA MORSKAJA (GREAT SEA STREET).
]

The Church of Sault Isaac, which is about the only sight we have seen, is perfectly gorgeous, with its huge pillars of malachite and _lapis lazuli_ from the mines of Demidoff. You enter, and a mysterious feeling, half oriental and half European, carries you away. The perpetual incense, the prostrate worshipers, the delicious temperature and the ornaments which combine the _luxe_ of Europe with the savage gorgeousness of Asia, form a whole which the churches of Italy do not have. Perhaps this combination of East and West is the great charm to the life in Russia. The toilettes of the ladies have come from the brain and fingers of Parisian _couturierès_ adapted to climate here. The Oriental element you see strong in the livery of servants and the uniforms of officers. The feeling of caste is very marked, and while the London flunkey beats the world in servility, and the Italian beggar in woe-begone dejection, the Russian servant seems to be afraid of you, recognizing the superior man in everything.

CHRISTMAS SHOPPING IN ST. PETERSBURG.
]

PRETTY RUSSIAN MAIDENS.

I have not yet had a good chance to see all the different sleighs in their glory, but from what I have seen I think they will be stunning. We saw two pretty little Russian maidens, with their white furs, driving along in a jolly sleigh, the horse in the shafts trotting gaily, and one on his left cantering beside him.

The omnibuses have three horses, but I have not seen a swell in his _troika_. The horses certainly trot faster than any except ours, and some I see on the Nevsky Prospect would make a very creditable show on the Brighton road.

P. M. We have been out today to visit Mr. Pierce, (A relative of the Longfellows, who had been secretary of legation during President Pierce’s administration, and at the time we were in Russia connected with the Winans in the railroad building business.) who lives about four miles outside the city, and after passing the place by mistake and returning, we succeeded in finding him, and received a most hospitable reception. He seemed much inclined to help us in any way to have a jolly time. The sleighing was fine and the air deliciously cold and clear.

The Russian youths at the theatres are a most enthusiastic crowd, and I have seen singers at the Opera, ballet dancers, or even a circus star called out five or six times. The Grand Opera House is very fine, and the ballet troupe gorgeous, quite as good, if not better, than the one in Paris. There is a theatre (Saint Michel) where they give French and German plays, so that one can have most everything.

Well, I have lots of letters to write and no time to write any of them, so that this must suffice you for the week.

Nathan.

The theatre is large and finely decorated. The Imperial box is always ready to be occupied by the Tsar or some member of his family, the sentries standing on each side of it in their gorgeous uniforms as motionless as statues. The pit is filled with the _viveurs_ of the city, young and old, who are in their stalls, lorgnettes in hand, watching every movement on the stage. Between the acts all file out into the smoking room, when a _papyrus_ is inhaled, and some cooling beverage partaken of in the interlude of the play.

The ballet itself is a masterpiece of skill in its peculiar style. The dancers are trained carefully for years in a school under the Imperial patronage, and only appear upon the stage after having gone through a long apprenticeship. The story of the piece, of which the scene takes place in Russia or some of the Oriental countries, is most carefully worked up by the author, and entirely acted in pantomime and dance. All the passions of love, hatred, jealousy and revenge will be exhibited by motions aided by the changing strains of an excellent orchestra. When a favorite _danseuse_ comes bounding across the stage, attired in Russian costume, delineating in her movements sentiments which appeal to the pride or patriotism of the audience, the enthusiasm of the house knows no limit, and words and shouts of applause rend the air long and loud.

CHARLES K. SMITH.

I went to New York on my seventeenth birthday, February 2, 1860, when I was a Freshman at Harvard College, to pay a visit to the family of David Lane, whose wife was Caroline Lamson, sister of Colonel Daniel S. Lamson, friends of my mother, who lived at 12 East 10th Street or Brevoort Place, as it was called. The firm was Lane, Lamson, & Co. The American flag in my trophy was given me by one of this family. It was on this New York visit that I made the acquaintance of Charlie Smith, and he seemed to take a great liking to me.

In my diary of Feb. 2, 1860, I find, “In the evening people came, it being the Lanes’ reception evening, Mr. Smith and others.” This is the first mention of him. One evening, shortly after this, he invited us all to go to the Italian opera at the Academy of Music, in Brooklyn, and we accepted, driving over and back.

The next mention is in regard to a visit to Weston, Mass., “Feb. 16, 1860. Went to Weston in a glorious snow storm. Stunning dinner. Went for two of the party in an ox team to the station. Took profiles in the evening. Supper stunninger.

Sunday, Feb. 19, 1860. There was no church but we went out in the sleigh to see Mr. Smith’s protégé, deaf and dumb. (A boy he was interested in and was having educated.) Good dinner.”

Daniel S. Lamson, our especial host and entertainer in 1860, was commissioned Major 16th Mass. Infantry, Aug. 1, 1861, Lieutenant Colonel July 23, 1862, and resigned for disability Sept. 29, 1862. But this was the year before the War.

I always called him “Uncle Dan” and do so still (1904).