Tyrone Power opens his second volume at Nahant, Massachusetts, where he describes the rocky peninsula as "a very wild and unworldlike little territory" jutting into Massachusetts Bay. His eye for detail is immediately apparent: he notes the classic forms given to humble buildings—a billiard-table housed beneath a temple to Minerva, a bathhouse entered through a Doric portico—and remarks that moonlight "clothes them in grace and beauty." This blend of natural description and architectural commentary sets the tone for a travelogue that moves from coastal New England to the Deep South, mixing scenic appreciation with sharp social observation.
A Traveler's Eye for Architecture and Setting
Throughout the excerpts, Power pays close attention to how buildings fit their surroundings. At Nahant, he praises the "low projecting eaves" of southern-style cottages and the "classic form" of public structures. Later, in Mobile, he notes the use of a local shell material for roads, which binds with sand to create durable, clean thoroughfares—a practical improvement he credits with reducing fever in the city. His descriptions are precise: the Doric portico of the bathhouse, the temple-like billiard room. These observations reveal a traveler who judges a place partly by its built environment, and who values both utility and aesthetic harmony.
Social Scenes and Democratic Mixing
Power's account of a Washington's Birthday ball in Mobile provides a vivid snapshot of American society. He notes the assembly of six hundred people, "all of the democracy of Mobile having a claim to the term respectable." His description of the mingling—merchant's lady dancing with the modiste who made her dress, the wealthy planter's daughter partnering her brother's tailor—is precise and unromanticized. He observes that no "ill consequence or undue familiarity" persists after such occasions. The supper, laid out on galleries wreathed with shrubs, and the "ugly, ill-dressed picture" representing Liberty, add a wry touch to his report.
Culinary Encounters and Local Character
Power's appetite for local fare yields memorable passages. On the road to New Orleans, a landlord offers him "an illegant turkey, a wild one, and a Tennessee ham, with a lump of roast beef, rare and tinder." Power declares the wild turkey "the foremost of all winged things yet appropriated to the use of the kitchen." Such moments ground his impressions in sensory detail. He also notes the abundance of Mobile's market—"provisions, fish, and game of every variety"—and the quality of its hotels. These culinary observations are woven into his broader assessment of a place's health and hospitality.
Journal Form and Shifting Perspectives
The volume's structure alternates between dated journal entries and more reflective "impressions." Power signals this shift explicitly: "I will here, as I have before done, drop my Journal, and put my Impressions together in a less desultory form." The excerpts show him moving from Nahant to New York, then south to Petersburg, Charleston, Savannah, Mobile, and New Orleans. He includes a footnote about the capture of murderers in the Creek Nation, adding a touch of frontier drama. This mix of immediate diary and retrospective summary gives the reader both the spontaneity of travel and the considered view of a seasoned observer.
Power's second volume rewards readers who attend to his specific, often wry observations of American life in the 1830s. His eye for architectural detail, social mixing, and local custom—from the Doric bathhouse to the democratic ballroom—offers a textured portrait that avoids broad generalization. The journal form invites dipping in and out, but the strongest passages are those where Power lingers on a scene, letting its particulars speak.
That second volume of Tyrone Power’s travels keeps returning to me—how he watched a place with his whole attention, noting what lingered. His America feels like a slow, humid afternoon. I think of Italy, the Magic Land — Context and Discussion the same way, another stranger’s soft gaze resting on foreign ground, letting it simply be. Some books just stay.