On the subject of Washington hotels, I was told a good story the other day.
The most fashionable hotel of this city having outgrown its space, the proprietors sent a note to a lady, whose back yard adjoined, to say, that, contemplating still enlarging their hotel, they would be glad to know at what price she would sell her yard, and they would hand her the amount without any more discussion. The lady, in equally Yankee style, replied that she had been contemplating enlarging her back yard, and was going to inquire what they would take for part of their hotel!
How beautiful this city of Washington is, with its wide avenues, its parks, and its buildings! That Capitol, in white marble, standing on elevated ground, against a bright blue sky, is a poem--an epic poem.
I am never tired of looking at the expanse of cloudless blue that is almost constantly stretched overhead. The sunsets are glorious. The poorest existence would seem bearable under such skies. I am told they are better still further West. I fancy I should enjoy to spend some time on a farm, deep in the country, far from the noisy, crowded streets, but I fear I am condemned to see none but the busy haunts of Jonathan.
In the evening I went to what is called a colored church. The place was packed with negroes of all shades and ages; the women, some of them very smartly dressed, and waving scarlet fans. In a pew sat a trio truly gorgeous. Mother, in black shiny satin, light-brown velvet mantle covered with iridescent beads, bonnet to match. Daughter of fifteen; costume of sky-blue satin, plush mantle, scarlet red, chinchilla fur trimmings, white hat with feathers. Second girl, or daughter, light-blue velvet, from top to toe, with large hat, apple-green and gold.
Every one was intently listening to the preacher, a colored man, who gave them, in graphic language and stentorian voice, the story of the capture of the Jews by Cyrus, their slavery and their delivery. A low accompaniment of "Yes!" "Hear, hear!" "Allelujah!" "Glory!" from the hearers, showed their approbation of the discourse. From time to time, there would be a general chuckle or laughter, and exclamations of delight from the happy grin-lit mouths, as, for instance, when the preacher described the supper of Belshazzar, and the appearance of the writing on the wall, in his own droll fashion. "'Let's have a fine supper,' said Belshazzar. 'Dere's ole Cyrus out dere, but we'll have a good time and enjoy ourselves, and never mind him.' So he went for de cups dat had come from de Temple of Jerusalem, and began carousin'! Dere is Cyrus, all de while, marchin' his men up de bed ob de river. I see him comin'! I see him!" Then he pictured the state all that wicked party got in at the sight of the writing nobody could read, and by this time the excitement of the congregation was tremendous. The preacher thought this a good opportunity to point a moral. So he proceeded: "Now, drink is a poor thing; dere's too much of it in dis here city." Here followed a picture of certain darkies, who cut a dash with shiny hats and canes, and frequented bars and saloons. "When folks take to drinkin', somefin's sure to go wrong." Grins and grunts of approbation culminated in perfect shouts of glee, as the preacher said: "Ole Belshazzar and de rest of 'em forgot to shut de city gate, and in came Cyrus and his men."