The next day being fine and frosty, and the roads hard, I set off in the morning to pay my intended visit to Lane Seminary.  I found it a long two miles, all up hill.  The seminary itself, the building in which the students are accommodated, is a large plain brick edifice, four stories high, besides the basement-story, and has very much the appearance of a small Lancashire factory.  It is 100 feet long by about 40 feet wide, and contains 84 rooms for students.  The situation is pleasant, and at a nice distance from the roadside.  A large bell was being tolled awkwardly when I arrived.  It was 11 o’clock A.M.  I found the front door thrown wide open, with every indication of its being entered by all comers without the least ceremony—­not even that of wiping the shoes.  There was neither door-bell nor knocker, scraper nor mat; and the floor of the lobby seemed but slightly acquainted with the broom,—­to say nothing of the scrubbing-brush.  It looked like the floor of a corn or provision warehouse.  I had no alternative but to venture in.  Immediately after, there entered a young man with a fowling-piece, whom before I had seen at a little distance watching the movements of a flock of wild pigeons.  I took him for a sportsman; but he was a young divine!  I asked him if Dr. Beecher was about.  He replied that he guessed not, but he would be at the lecture-room in a few minutes, for the bell that had just tolled was a summons to that room.  “Does the Doctor, then,” said I, “deliver a lecture this morning?”—­“No, it is declamation this morning.”  “Is it such an exercise,” I continued, “as a stranger may attend?”—­“Oh, yes!” he replied; “it is public declamation.”  He then directed me to the lecture-room.  It was across the yard, and under the chapel belonging to the institution.  This chapel is a very neat building, after the model of a Grecian temple, having the roof in front carried out and supported by six well-proportioned columns in the form of a portico.  In a part of the basement-story was the lecture-room in question.  The students were mustering.  By-and-by Dr. Stowe entered.  He invited me to take a chair by his side, on a kind of platform.  Professor Allen then came in, and after him Dr. Beecher.  The exercise began with a short prayer by Mr. Allen.  He then called upon a Mr. Armstrong, one of the students, to ascend the platform.  The young man obeyed; and, somewhat abruptly and vehemently, rehearsed from memory a Poem on War.  Suiting the action to the words, he began—­

  “On—­to the glorious conflict—­ON!”

It quite startled me!  Soon afterwards I heard,—­

  “And Montezuma’s halls shall ring.”