I was up early and after a silent breakfast went up to take my leave of my Mother. This affected me very much, and she opened some sores which I had laboured hard to keep covered from her. I had so very short a time to speak of them that perhaps the bitterness which I could not entirely suppress was the only pain I gave her. God forgive me for doing that.

My father and I parted coldly and silently—He putting into my hands a letter of instructions to be followed upon my return to Boston.1 To the remainder of the family my departure was a relief. I did not feel easy until I was rolling rapidly in the Stage along Pennsylvania Avenue, and a fellow passenger whom we took in by his active conversation roused me to think of other things. He proved to be Col. A. P. Hayne of Carolina—A very gentlemanly man just returned from his five years travels in Europe. He had been under obligation to my father for a letter to the Duke of Sussex which procured him a dinner,2 and being naturally talkative he spent much time in the discussion of 18topics which civility required me to listen to. Nor was the conversation unprofitable.

We arrived at Baltimore just before two, and I risked going directly to Gorham Brooks’. Seldom as I play these capers, it would have been far better if I had done so once less. For here was an embarras. I lost my dinner at Barnum’s. And lo! Gorham and his Wife were to dine out. The consequence was that they were at the trouble of procuring and cooking me a dinner much to my discomfiture. In such cases the best way is to get over it as soon as possible and determine not to be caught so again. As they were not to dine until late I sat there conversing with Gorham until four o’clock when I left them.

The remainder of the afternoon was passed in visiting the Washington Monument—Quite a handsome thing, though as yet very much in the fields. I was foolish enough to take a lantern and ascend the two hundred and thirty odd steps to the top from which there is a pretty view but one which does not pay the trouble of winding the Corkscrew stair. On the top there is a statue of Washington by Causici which does not strike me as dignified or graceful. It is not possible to see the original but a cast of reduced dimensions and consequently more agreeable proportions is placed at the door. Returned to Barnum’s. Took a silent Supper and after looking over the Newspapers retired early to bed.

I was early roused and on my way to the Steamboat—Leaving Baltimore behind me without regret. A city which I never could much admire. We started in the Independence, and were about seven hours in going to Frenchtown. I was fortunate in meeting again with Col. A. P. Hayne who continued his civility to me, and who introduced me to Captain Kearney of the Navy, a discontented officer. There were one or two others who made a party in the railroad car, and the very fluent conversation of the Col. made the hour pass away like nothing. At one we found ourselves at New Castle and before four o’clock I was safely housed at the United States Hotel, a house I do not admire and which I would not go to for any other purpose than as a mere shelter for the night.

After looking over the Newspapers and taking tea, I went out and got myself put in order to attend the Theatre. The piece was that of “the Stranger,” Mrs. Haller by a certain Miss Fanny Jarman who has come here to be a star on the strength of a paragraph from Blackwood in which she was brought in to make the last in a trio of Fannys now on the Stage, Miss Kelly being the first and Miss Kemble the other. She is a tall, full formed woman with a masculine manner, or rather what the French call prononcée, and a “taille si arrondi” that the idea crossed me she must be in a relation somewhat intimate with Mr. Ternan who plays every where in her company. Mr. Sheridan Knowles has since informed me that they are married.1 With these unfavorable prejudices from her first appearance, I was yet quite pleased with her performance. It wanted the power and the pathos of Miss Kemble which drew tears from all eyes not excepting my own. Yet it was not bad, there was no vicious taste, no catches for applause, and the last scene was decidedly moving. Mr. Ternan performed the part of the Stranger, but he was not a fit successor to Charles Kemble. There was a grace, a quiet dignity of offended sensibility about the performance of this part by the latter person, that I do not believe can be surpassed. It was just the height to which this actor can rise. He wants the power of great genius but in the knowledge of true taste he is accurate.

I was in the dress boxes tonight and disappointed that they were not more brilliant. The Theatre is however a poorly constructed one for effect, nor does it seem very well supported. An Afterpiece from the French called the Bold Dragoons of some humour closed the Entertainment.