Janssen, the prophet, has been killed by a Swede named Booth. He might have maintained the respect of his people, but had a sad reputation around the colony.
Anne Lynch and I intend to spend to-morrow, the 4th of July, at Mount Vernon, the former country-seat of Washington, and the place of his burial, and there quietly to celebrate the great day of the United States, the day on which the Declaration of Independence was made, and which is kept in all the States and cities with speechifying, drinking of toasts, and firing of guns.
In a week I shall leave the hotel, which is too hot and too populous for me, and where it is almost impossible to escape from company and company-life. My little friend Miss Lynch lives in it as in the breath of her life, and without the slightest coquetry always attracts around her, by liveliness and good-humoured wit, a crowd of people, mostly gentlemen. To these she often says many a little caustic truth, but so gaily that it seems to please them more than flattery. She has an especial facility for puns and sallies of wit, which always produce a lively effect, and infuse fresh air into the occasionally heavy or thunderous intellectual atmosphere. As for instance, on one occasion, when Clay, having excited himself against those who believed that, under his proposal of compromise, he concealed selfish views and designs for the presidentship, he added the protestation, “It is not in the power of mankind to offer any reward which would be a temptation to me!” On this Anne Lynch asked if he asserted the same as regarded “the power of womankind?” Clay smiled, and said that he would think about it; and his ill-humour was gone.
Farewell, my child! I salute you and mamma.
I shall tell you in my next more about Congress and the gentlemen of Congress here.
