whole numbers, are seen in America, than are seen here. The fact
must be so, since it could not well be otherwise. This is a case in
point, by which to demonstrate the little value of the common-place
observations of travellers. Even more pretending statisticians
frequently fall into grave blunders of this sort, for the tastes
necessary to laboured and critical examinations of facts, are
seldom found united with the readiness of thought, and fertility
of invention, that are needed in a successful examination of new
principles, or of old principles environed by novel circumstances. No
one but an original thinker can ever write well, or very usefully of
America, since the world has never before furnished an example of a
people who have been placed under circumstances so peculiarly their
own, both political and social. Let us apply our reasoning.
To be eighty years old one must have been born eighty years ago. Now
eighty years ago, the entire population of America may have been
about three millions, while that of England was more than seven. A
simple proposition in arithmetic would prove to us, that with such
premises, one ought to see more than twice as many people eighty
years old in England, than in America; for as three are to seven,
so are seven to sixteen and one-third. Setting aside the qualifying
circumstances, of which there are some, here is arithmetical
demonstration, that for every seven people who are eighty years old
in America, one ought to meet in England with sixteen and one-third,
in order to equalize the chances of life in the two countries. The
qualifying circumstances are the influence of immigration, which,
until quite lately, has not amounted to much, and which perhaps would
equal the allowance I have already made in my premises, as England
had actually nearer eight than seven millions of souls, eighty years
since: and the effect of surface. I say the effect of surface, for
a mere observer, who should travel over a portion of America equal
in extent to all England, would pass through a country that, eighty
years ago, had not probably a population of half a million, and this
allowing him, too, to travel through its most peopled part.
The comparative statistical views of Europe and America, that have
been published in this hemisphere, are almost all obnoxious to
objections of this character, the writers being unable to appreciate
the influence of facts of which they have no knowledge, and which are
too novel to suggest themselves to men trained in other habits of
thinking.
I see no reason to believe that human life is not as long in our
part of America, as it is here, and, on the whole, I am inclined to
believe that the average of years is in our favour. I do not intend
to say that the mean years of running lives is as high with us, as it
is here, for we know that they are not. The number of children, and
the facts I have just stated, forbid it. But I believe the child born
in the state of New York, _cæteris paribus_, has as good a chance
of attaining the age of ninety, so far as climate is concerned, as
the child born in Kent, or Essex, or Oxford, and so far as other
circumstances are concerned, perhaps a better. The freshness of the
English complexion is apt to deceive inconsiderate observers. This,
I take it, is merely the effect of fog and sea-air, and, except in
very low latitudes, where the heat of the sun deadens the skin, as
it might be to protect the system against its own rays, is to be
seen every where, under the same circumstances. There is something
in the exhalations of a country newly cleared, beyond a question,
unfavourable to health, and this the more so, in latitudes as low as
our own; but I now speak of the older parts of the country, where
time has already removed this objection. I can remember when it was
not usual to see a woman with a good colour, in the mountains around
C——n, while it is now unusual to find girls with a finer bloom than
those of the present generation. At my residence at Angevine in
West-Chester, a few years since, I could count ten people more than
ninety years old, within ten miles of my own door. One of them had
actually lived as a servant in the family of Col. Heathcote, of whom
you know something, and who figured in the colony, at the close of
the seventeenth century; and another was Mr. Augustus Van Cortlandt,
a gentleman who drove his own blooded horses, at the ripe years of
four score and ten. The old servant actually laboured for my oldest
child, making five generations of the same family, in whose service
she had toiled.
The notion of the comparative insalubrity of our climate, however,
is not quite general, for, making a call, the other day, on Lady
Affleck, a New York woman well advanced in life, she expressed her
conviction that people lived to a greater age in America, than in
England! She had been making inquiries after the members of the
old colonial gentry, such as Mrs. White,[5] John Jay, Mr. John de
Lancey, Mrs. Izard, Mr. Van Cortlandt, Mr. John Watts, Lady Mary
Watts, and divers others, most of whom were octogenarians, and
several of whom were drawing near to a century. It appeared to me
that the good old lady wished herself back among them, to get a
mouthful of native air.
Though Westminster, in the season, has the peculiarities I have
mentioned, I do not think that the population of London, as a whole,
is remarkable for either size or freshness. I have elsewhere said
that, in my opinion, Paris has the advantage of London in these
particulars, though certainly not in good looks. The English female
face is essentially the same as the American, though national
peculiarities are to be observed in both. It is a delicate office to
decide on the comparative personal charms of the sex in different
communities, but as you and I are both beyond the hopes and fears of
the young, on this point, a passing word is no more than a tribute
due to the incontestable claims of both. Were it not for the females
of Rome, I should say that the women of England and America might
bear away the palm from all other competitors, on the score of
personal charms, so far as we are familiarly acquainted with the
rest of the world. There is a softness, an innocence, a feminine
sweetness, an expression of the womanly virtues, in the Anglo-Saxon
female countenance, that is met with only as an exception, in the
rest of Christendom. As between the English and American divisions
of this common race, I think one may trace a few general points
of difference. The English female has the advantage in the bust,
shoulders, and throat. She has usually more colour, and, on the
whole, a more _delicacy_ of complexion. The American is superior
in general delicacy of outline, as well as in complexion; she has
a better person, bust and shoulders excepted, and smaller hands
and feet. Those who pretend to know much on this subject, and to
make critical comparisons, say, that it is usual to see most truly
_beautiful_ women in England, and most _pretty_ women in America.
Real beauty is an exception every where, and it must be remembered
how much easier it is to find exceptions in a crowded population,
than in one scattered over a surface as large as a third of Europe.
Of one thing I am certain; _disagreeable_ features are less
frequently met, among the native females of America, than among any
other people I have visited. I must hesitate as to the points of
_beauty_ and _prettiness_, for, judging merely by what one would see
in London and New York, I think there is truth in the distinction.
The English women appear better in high dress, the Americans in
demi-toilettes. One other distinction, and I shall quit the subject.
I have remarked that faces here, which appear well in the distance,
often fail in some necessary _finesse_ or delicacy, when closer, and
I should say, as a rule, that the American female, certainly the
American girl, will bear the test of examination better than her
European rival. I do not mean, by this, however, under a fierce sun,
that direful enemy of soft eyes, for there is scarcely such a thing
as a bright sun, or what we should call one, known in England.
It would pollute this page, were I to return to the horses. I may,
however, say, for the subject is, to a degree, connected with the
ladies, that sedan chairs appear to have finally disappeared from St.
James’s street. Even in 1826, I saw a stand of them, that has since
vanished. The chairs may still be used, on particular occasions, but
were Cecilia now in existence, she would find it difficult to be set
down in Mrs. Benfield’s entry, from a machine so lumbering. Thank
God! men have ceased to be horses;—when will the metamorphosis be
completed by their relinquishing the affinity to the other quadruped?
LETTER VIII.
TO EDWARD FLOYD DELANCEY, ESQ.
London justly boasts of her squares and parks. The former are both
more numerous and more beautiful than are to be found in any other
town; and, while Vienna has its Prater, Paris its Bois de Boulogne,
and Berlin, Munich, Dresden, Brussels, and, indeed, nearly every
capital of Europe, its particular garden, or place of resort, none
of them offer the variety, range, and verdure, of the parks of
this great town. As compared with their size, the smaller capitals
of Germany perhaps possess this advantage in an equal degree with
London: but the inhabitants of Leipsig, Dresden, or Munich, cannot
enjoy the circuit and broad expanse of fields that are met with here.
There are said to be eighty squares alone in this huge town, to say
nothing of its parks.
You are too young to know much, even by report, of the London of
the last century; but the squares, rendered nearly classical by the
better novels of that period, are, I believe, with one solitary
exception, already without the pale of fashion. I can remember Soho
when it was still the residence of people of condition; but that and
Leicester Square, with Lincoln’s Inn Fields, the largest area of the
sort in London, are now all abandoned to business. St. James’s still
maintains its character, owing, probably, to its position near the
palace. Norfolk-house, the town-dwelling of the first peer of the
realm, is in this square, as is also that of the Duke of St. Albans.
In a country as aristocratical as this, in which there are but some
twenty nobles of this high rank, the presence of a single duke will
suffice to leaven the gentility of a neighbourhood. In this manner
does Northumberland-house, standing on the confines of trade, serve
as an outpost to protect the eastern flank of the _beau quartier_,
extending its atmosphere a little beyond itself, in a sort of diluted
fashion.
Norfolk-house,[6] on the street, (I have never entered it), shows a
front of nine windows, I believe, differing but little in externals
from one of our own dwellings, with the difference in length. There
is one feature, however, in our architecture, that distinguishes it
almost invariably from that of Europe. Here the details are on the
same dimensions as the building. Thus a house of nine windows would
not be exactly three times as long as one of three, but probably
something longer. Houses of three or four windows in front, which are
common enough in London, if intended for good abodes, are usually on
a larger scale than our own: the fact that even a small building can
get a noble aspect by fine details, being better understood here than
with us. We multiply, but seldom enlarge rooms, though the size and
proportions are indispensably necessary to effect.
Norfolk-house has neither court nor gate, and, of course, it can be
entered only by crossing the side-walk, as with us; a circumstance
that, of itself, does away with most of its air of grandeur. A
private palace that is well known to me at Florence, has thirty-three
windows in front, besides being built around a court!
I have been in but one house in St. James’s Square, which belongs
to Lord Clanricarde, though now occupied by Lord Wellesley. It is a
house of the size, style, and appearance of one of our own better
sort of town residences, with the difference I have named; that of
having rather nobler details. The practice of living on the first
floor, enables the English to take into the better rooms the whole
width of the building. This practice prevailed with us thirty years
since, when our architecture, like our society, was less ambitious,
but in better taste than it is to-day. There may be in London,
possibly, a hundred dwellings that, in Paris, might be called hotels,
and which are deemed, here, worthy to bear names. They belong
principally to the higher nobility, for I fancy it would be deemed
social treason for a commoner to erect such an abode. Among them are
Northumberland, Devonshire, Norfolk, Apsley, Lansdowne, Marlborough,
Westminster, Bridgewater, Spencer, and Burlington-houses, &c. &c.
&c. Neither of these dwellings would be considered first-rate on the
continent of Europe; especially in Italy; nor do I think either is as
large as the President’s house; though the residence of the Duke of
Northumberland may be an exception. The unfinished building intended
for the Duke of York, and which, since his death, has been purchased
by the Marquis of Stafford, promises to be one of the noblest
dwellings of London, and is truly a palace.[7]
It strikes me there is a sort of arbitrary line run between the
quarters of London, following the direction of Regent’s street.
There are many squares on the eastern side of this thoroughfare, and
some good streets, but rank and fashion appear to avoid them. When
I was here in 1826, Mr. Canning facetiously asked, in parliament,
if any one knew where Russell Square might be, and the question was
thought to be derogatory to its standing. Still Russell, Bedford,
Bloomsbury, and one or two more squares in that vicinity, are among
the finest in London. They are chiefly occupied, I fancy, by people
in the professions, or in trade. Cavendish, Hanover, St. James’s,
Grosvenor, Portman, Berkeley, and Manchester, are the squares
most affected by people of condition. I presume a _parvenu_, who
should wish to get into one of these squares, would have to make
his advances with caution; not that houses may not be bought, or
built, but because opinion draws arbitrary distinctions, on all
these matters, in England. This feeling is inherent in man, and
we are far from being free from it. If a person of one of our own
recognized but impoverished families were to become rich suddenly,
no one would think it extraordinary that he set up his carriage and
extended his mode of living; for, by a sort of general but silent
consent, it would be admitted there was a fitness in it; while the
entirely new man would be commented on and sneered at. Institutions
are of no avail in such matters, opinion being stronger than law.
Mankind insensibly defer to the things and persons to whom they are
accustomed. There is some just and useful sentiment, mingled with
a good deal of narrow prejudice, in this feeling, and it should be
the aim of those who influence opinion, to distinguish between the
two; neither running into a bigotted exclusion, nor indulging in
those loose and impracticable theories, that only tend to impair the
influence of those who are capable of refining and advancing the
tone and tastes, and frequently the principles, of society, without
finding a substitute.
The English squares do not differ essentially from our own, though
the houses around them are generally larger and more imposing, and
the enclosures are usually laid out with a stricter adherence to
taste in landscape gardening. I know of nothing on the continent of
Europe of precisely the same nature, the squares there being usually,
if not invariably, without trees, enclosures, or verdure.
The parks of London are four; St. James’s, the Green, Hyde, and
Regent’s. The two first lie side by side, and their corners are
separated from that of Hyde Park by Piccadilly only, so that in
passing from one to the other, one is always in the fields; and
Kensington Gardens, again, which differs from the parks only in the
nature of the plantations, lie adjacent to the further extremity of
Hyde Park. The latter alone contains nearly four hundred acres of
land, and I should think a space of near, or quite, seven hundred
acres lies, here, in contiguous fields and gardens, covered with what
may almost be termed eternal verdure.
Regent’s Park is at some distance from the others, though in a
quarter inhabited by the upper classes, for, while London has so
many areas for the enjoyments of the affluent, it is worse off
than common, in this respect, in the quarters of the humble. An
improvement of quite recent date, has entirely changed a portion
of the capital. Carlton House, the former residence of the Prince
of Wales, has been pulled down, and an opening made into St.
James’s Park, in a style resembling the French. Here is a _place_,
or square, without verdure, which is surrounded by magnificent
clubhouses, and is called Waterloo Place. At this point Regent’s
street commences, running a distance of near two miles, though not
exactly in a straight line. The deviations in the direction are
made by means of architectural devices, that rather aid than impair
the effect. The _coup d’œil_ of this street is noble, and almost
unequalled, though it is faulty in details, and mean in materials.
The latter objection may be made to most of the modern improvements
of the town, stuccoed bricks being used very generally, and sometimes
in the public edifices. When the stucco stands, as it does pretty
well in London, the appearance is better than that of the naked
bricks however, and by far the greater portion of the towns of Europe
are stuccoed, though usually on stone. It is only in Italy that one
sees much true magnificence, and even there stucco is quite common.
The best hotels of Paris, however, are of hewn stone.
The whole of Regent street is lined by buildings, erected in
_blocks_, so as to resemble hotels, or palaces. The architecture is
Grecian, varying between the several streets, no two _blocks_ being
exactly alike, perhaps; and many of them having columns, though none
that project, or descend to the pavement. The buildings are chiefly
used for shops, eating-houses, taverns, and other places of business.
They are, in general, insignificant in depth, being principally
outside. Still, the general effect is noble, and it is much aided by
the breadth, beauty, and solidity of the flagging. The carriage-way
is M’Adamized.
Regent street, by a pleasing curvature, has been made to _débouche_
in Portland Place, a short, but noble street, filled with plain, good
dwellings. Portland Place, again, terminates at Regent’s Crescent,
where a series of beautiful enclosures commence. Here the houses are
in circular colonnades, and passing them, you enter Regent’s Park.
This park better deserves the name of garden, as it is planted and
decorated in that style, rather than in that of a park. It bids
fair to be very beautiful, but is still too recent to develope all
its rural charms. Certain favourites have been permitted to build
in the park, and so long as this privilege shall be kept within
proper limits, the effect will aid rather than impair the view. The
Zoological Garden is also within the enclosure.
As the first peculiar object seen is apt to make the strongest
impression, I ought perhaps to distrust my decision, but I think this
collection, as yet, much inferior in taste, arrangement, and animals,
to the _Jardin des Plantes_. It will, however, most probably improve
fast, for no nation enjoys facilities equal to England to advance
such an end. The whole of Regent’s Park, a distance of about a mile
and a-half, is encircled by a broad, smooth road, or drive, and this
again is, in part, enclosed by rows of dwellings in terraces. These
terraces stand a little back from the road, have carriage-sweeps and
shrubbery in front, and are constructed on identified plans, so as to
make a dozen dwellings resemble a single edifice. The material and
designs are much like those of Regent street, though the scale is
grander. Occasionally an isolated building breaks the uniformity of
the arrangement, and prevents monotony.
The climate of London, a few of the summer months excepted, in the
way of nerves and sensations, is any thing but pleasant. But the
mists, when they do not degenerate to downright smoke and fogs, have
the merit of singularly softening and aiding the landscape character
of its scenes. I have driven into the Regent’s Park, when the fields,
casting upward their hues, the rows of houses seen dimly through
the haze, the obscure glimpses of the hills beyond, the carriages
rolling up, as it were out of vacuum, and the dim magnificence with
its air of vastness, have conspired to render it one of the most
extraordinary things, in its way, I have ever beheld.
There is a point near White-Hall, too, where I have stood often, to
gaze at the dome of St. Paul’s throwing up its grand outlines in
the atmosphere of vapour, looking mystical and churchly. Such are
the days in which I most like to gaze at London, for they carry out
the idea of its vastness, and help to give it the appearance of an
illimitable wilderness of human abodes, human interests, and human
passions.
Many of the views from the bridges are rather striking, though
in this particular, I think Paris has the advantage. Having an
occasion to make a call on a member of the Admiralty, I found him in
Somerset-house, in rooms that overlook the river. The day was clearer
than usual, and my acquaintance pointed out to me views, which
embraced the windings of the Thames, the noble bridges, the fields of
roofs and chimneys, with a back ground of verdant hills, in Surrey,
that might be deemed fine, for any town. Still it is the eternal
movement, the wealth, the endless lines of streets, the squares
and parks, and not its scenery, that characterize London. There is
another peculiarity that, for most of the year, one cannot help
feeling here. I mean the chilling dreariness of the weather, without,
as it is contrasted to the comfort of an English home, within. There
is not more of the latter than with us, perhaps, but there is so much
more of the former, as to bring the warmth, coal-fires, carpets,
and internal arrangements of the dwellings, into what may be truly
termed a _high relief_. As we ordinarily find the best agriculture
in inhospitable climates, and the richest inventions of man under
circumstances that have called loudest for their exercise, so do I
suspect that the far-famed comfort of England, within doors, owes its
existence to the discomfort without.
Of the climate, I have not a word to say that is favourable. In
America we have very cold and very hot weather; perhaps four months
of the year are decidedly uncomfortable, from one or the other of
these causes; though the cold being usually a dry, honest cold, may
be guarded against, and be borne; and the cold, certainly with us,
is commonly weather that is exhilarating and otherwise healthful.
The remaining eight months are such as are not surpassed, and hardly
equalled, in any part of Europe, that I have visited. I should divide
our New York weather in some such manner as this. Between November
and March, there may be found, in all, a month of uncomfortable cold;
between March and May, another month of disagreeable weather; between
May and October, five or six weeks of lassitude, or of heat, that one
could wish were not so, and then, I think, our positively bad weather
is fully disposed of. The remainder of the year, under the necessary
variations of the seasons, may be termed good.
I question if England can boast of half as much tolerable weather. I
am aware that it requires long residences, and habits of comparison,
to speak understandingly of climates; and, perhaps, there is no
point on which travellers are more apt to be influenced by their own
feelings, than on this; but, judging as much by the accounts of those
who ought to know, as by my own experience, I believe four months in
the year would fully include all the weather, of this island, that a
stranger would not find uncomfortably bad. I have been disappointed
in the English spring. I do not say it is not better than ours of the
northern states, for nothing, in its way, can be less genial than our
spring; but, this at London, strikes me as much less pleasant than
that we have passed at Paris, though even that was afflicted with
what the French call “_la lune rousse_.”