[1] I do not know how it is to be accounted for, but in spite of much
lighter duties, every article of dress, particularly silks,
embroideries, and all French manufactures, are more expensive here than
in England. The extravagance of the American women in this part of their
expenditure is, considering the average fortunes of this country, quite
extraordinary. They never walk in the streets but in the most showy and
extreme toilet, and I have known twenty, forty, and sixty dollars paid
for a bonnet to wear in a morning saunter up Broadway.
[2] These are the titles of three omnibuses which run up and down
Broadway all the day long.
[3] The New Yorkers have begun to see the evil of their ways, as far as
regards their carriage-road in Broadway,--which is now partly
Macadamised. It is devoutly to be hoped, that the worthy authorities
will soon have as much compassion on the feet of their fellow-citizens,
as they have begun to have for their brutes.
[4] The roughness and want of refinement, which is legitimately
complained of in this country is often however mitigated by instances of
civility, which would not be found commonly elsewhere. As I have noticed
above, the demeanour of men towards women in the streets is infinitely
more courteous here than with us; women can walk, too, with perfect
safety, by themselves, either in New York, Philadelphia, or Boston: on
board the steam-boats no person sits down to table until the ladies are
accommodated with seats; and I have myself in church benefited by the
civility of men who have left their pew, and stood, during the whole
service, in order to afford me room.
[5] Saw a woman riding to-day; but she has gotten a black velvet beret
upon her head.--Only think of a beret on horseback! The horses here are
none of them properly broken: their usual pace being a wrong-legged
half-canter, or a species of shambling trot, denominated, with infinite
justice, a _rack_. They are all broken with snaffles instead of curbs,
carry their noses out, and pull horribly; I have not yet seen a decent
rider, either man or woman.
[6] The spirit of independence, which is the common atmospheric air of
America, penetrates into the churches, as well as elsewhere. In Boston,
I have heard the Apostles' Creed mutilated and altered; once by the
omission of the passage "descended into hell," and another time, by the
substitution of the words "descended into the place of departed
spirits."
[7] Unfortunately this precaution does not fulfil its purpose; universal
suffrage is a political fallacy: and will be one of the stumbling-blocks
in the path of this country's greatness. I do not mean that it will
lessen her wealth, or injure her commercial and financial resources; but
it will be an insuperable bar to the progress of mental and intellectual
cultivation--'tis a plain case of action and reaction. If the mass, _i.
e._ the inferior portion, (for when was the mass not inferior?) elect
their own governors, they will of course elect an inferior class of
governors, and the government of such men will be an inferior
government; that it may be just, honest, and rational, I do not dispute;
but that it ever will be enlarged, liberal, and highly enlightened, I do
not, and cannot, believe.
[8] I do not know whether his honour the Recorder's information applied
only to the state of New York, or included all the others; 'tis not one
of the least strange features which this strange political process, the
American government, presents, that each state is governed by its own
laws; thus forming a most involved and complicated whole, where each
part has its own individual machinery; or, to use a more celestial
phraseology, its own particular system.
[9] Whoever pretends to write any account of "Men and Manners" in
America must expect to find his own work give him the lie in less than
six months; for both men and manners are in so rapid a state of progress
that no record of their ways of being and doing would be found correct
at the expiration of that term, however much so at the period of its
writing. Broadway is not only partly Macadamised since first we arrived
here, but there are actually to be seen in it now two or three carriages
of decent build, with hammercloths, foot-boards, and even once or twice
lately I have seen footmen standing on those foot-boards!!!
[10] Perhaps one reason for the perfect coolness with which a fire is
endured in New York is the dexterity and courage of the firemen: they
are, for the most part, respectable tradesmen's sons, who enlist in this
service, rather than the militia; and the vigilance and activity with
which their duty is discharged deserves the highest praise.
[11] I have lately read Goethe's Wilhelm Meister. In that wonderful
analysis of the first work of our master-mind by his German peer, all
has been said upon this subject that the most philosophical reason, or
poetical imagination, can suggest; and who that has read it can forget
that most appropriate and beautiful simile, wherein Hamlet's mind is
likened to an acorn planted in a porcelain vase--the seed becomes
living--the roots expand--and the fragile vessel bursts into a thousand
shivers!
[12] The fish of these waters may be excellent in the water; but owing
to the want of care and niceness with which they are kept after being
caught, they are very seldom worth eating when brought to table. They
have no turbot or soles, a great national misfortune: their best fish
are rock-fish, bass, shad (an excellent herring, as big as a small
salmon), and sheep's-head. Cod and salmon I have eaten; but from the
above cause they were never comparable to the same fish at an English
table. The lobsters, crabs, and oysters are all gigantic, frightful to
behold, and not particularly well-flavoured: their size makes them tough
and coarse.
[13] My friend was entertaining himself, at the expense of my credulity,
in making this assertion. The rattle-snakes and red Indians have fled
together before the approach of civilisation; and it would be as
difficult to find the one as the other in the vicinity of any of the
large cities of the northern states.
[14] It is two years since I visited Hoboken for the first time; it is
now more beautiful than ever. The good taste of the proprietor has made
it one of the most picturesque and delightful places imaginable; it
wants but a good carriage-road along the water's edge (for which the
ground lies very favourably) to make it as perfect a public promenade as
any European city can boast, with the advantage of such a river, for its
principal object, as none of them possess.
I think the European traveller, in order to form a just estimate both of
the evils and advantages deriving from the institutions of this country,
should spend one day in the streets of New York, and the next in the
walks of Hoboken. If in the one, the toil, the care, the labour of mind
and body, the outward and visible signs of the debasing pursuit of
wealth, are marked in melancholy characters upon every man he meets, and
bear witness to the great curse of the country; in the other, the crowds
of happy, cheerful, enjoying beings of that order, which, in the old
world, are condemned to ceaseless and ill-requited labour, will testify
to the blessings which counterbalance that curse. I never was so
forcibly struck with the prosperity and happiness of the lower orders of
society in this country as yesterday returning from Hoboken. The walks
along the river and through the woods, the steamers crossing from the
city, were absolutely thronged with a cheerful well-dressed population
abroad, merely for the purpose of pleasure and exercise. Journeymen,
labourers, handicraftsmen, tradespeople, with their families, bearing
all in their dress and looks evident signs of well-being and
contentment, were all flocking from their confined avocations, into the
pure air, the bright sunshine, and beautiful shade of this lovely place.
I do not know any spectacle which could give a foreigner, especially an
Englishman, a better illustration of that peculiar excellence of the
American government--the freedom and happiness of the lower classes.
Neither is it to be said that this was a holiday, or an occasion of
peculiar festivity--it was a common week-day--such as our miserable
manufacturing population spends from sun-rise to sun-down, in confined,
incessant, unhealthy toil--to earn, at its conclusion, the inadequate
reward of health and happiness so wasted. The contrast struck me
forcibly--it rejoiced my heart; it surely was an object of
contemplation, that any one who had a heart must have rejoiced in.
Presently, however, came the following reflections:--These people are
happy--their wants are satisfied, their desires fulfilled--their
capacities of enjoyment meet with full employment--they are well
fed--well clothed--well housed--moderate labour insures them all this,
and leaves them leisure for such recreations as they are capable of
enjoying; but how is it with me?--and I mean not _me myself_ alone, but
all who, like myself, have received a higher degree of mental
cultivation, whose estimate of happiness is, therefore, so much higher,
whose capacity for enjoyment is so much more expanded and
cultivated;--can I be satisfied with a race in a circular railroad car,
or a swing between the lime-trees? where are my peculiar objects of
pleasure and recreation? where are the picture-galleries--the
sculptures--the works of art and science--the countless wonders of human
ingenuity and skill--the cultivated and refined society--the intercourse
with men of genius, literature, scientific knowledge--where are all the
sources from which I am to draw my recreations? They are not. The heart
of a philanthropist may indeed be satisfied, but the intellectual man
feels a dearth that is inexpressibly painful; and in spite of the real
and great pleasure which I derived from the sight of so much enjoyment,
I could not help desiring that enjoyment of another order were combined
with it. Perhaps the two are incompatible; if so, I would not alter the
present state of things if I could.
The losers here are decidedly in the minority. Indeed, so much so, as
hardly to form a class; they are a few individuals, scattered over the
country, and of course their happiness ought not to come into
competition with that of the mass of the people; but the Americans, at
the same time that they make no provision whatever for the happiness of
such a portion of their inhabitants, would be very angry if one were to
say it was a very inconsiderable one, and yet that is the truth.
[15] The climate of this country is the scape-goat upon which all the
ill looks and ill health of the ladies is laid; but while they are
brought up as effeminately as they are, take as little exercise, live in
rooms like ovens during the winter, and marry as early as they do, it
will appear evident that many causes combine, with an extremely variable
climate, to sallow their complexions, and destroy their constitutions.
[16] The hackney coaches in this country are very different from those
perilous receptacles of dust and dirty straw, which disgrace the London
stands. They are comfortable within, and clean without; and the horses
harnessed to them never exhibit those shocking specimens of cruelty and
ill usage which the poor hack horses in London present. Indeed (and it
is a circumstance which deserves notice, for it bespeaks general
character,) I have not seen, during a two years' residence in this
country, a single instance of brutality towards animals, such as one is
compelled to witness hourly in the streets of any English town.
[17] There is a striking difference in this respect between the
tradespeople of New York and those of Boston and Philadelphia; and in my
opinion the latter preserve quite self-respect enough to acquit their
courtesy and civility from any charge of servility. The only way in
which I can account for the difference, is the greater impulse which
trade receives in New York, the proportionate rapidity with which
fortunes are made, the ever-shifting materials of which its society is
composed, and the facility with which the man who has served you behind
his counter, having amassed an independence, assumes a station in the
first circle, where his influence becomes commensurate with his wealth.
This is not the case either in Boston or Philadelphia, at least not to
the same degree.
[18] The universal hour of dining, in New York, when first we arrived,
was three o'clock; after which hour the cooks took their departure, and
nothing was to be obtained fit to eat, either for love or money: this
intolerable nuisance is gradually passing away; but even now, though we
can get our dinner served at six o'clock, it is always dressed at three;
its excellence may be imagined from that. To say the truth, I think the
system upon which all houses of public entertainment are conducted in
this country is a sample of the patience and long-suffering with which
dirt, discomfort, and exorbitant charges may be borne by a whole
community, without resistance, or even remonstrance. The best exceptions
I could name to these various inconveniences are, first, Mr. Cozzen's
establishment at West Point; next, the Tremont at Boston, and, lastly,
the Mansion House at Philadelphia. In each of these, wayfarers may
obtain some portion of decent comfort: but they have their drawbacks; in
the first, there are no private sitting-rooms; and in the last, the
number of servants is inadequate to the work. The Tremont is by far the
best establishment of the sort existing at present. Mr. A----, the
millionnaire of New York, is about to remedy this deficiency, by the
erection of a magnificent hotel in Broadway. One thing, however, is
certain; neither he nor any one else will ever succeed in having a
decent house, if the servants are not a little superior to the Irish
savages who officiate in that capacity in most houses, public and
private, in the northern states of America.
[19] It is fortunate for the managers of the Park Theatre, and very
unfortunate for the citizens of New York, that the audiences who
frequent that place of entertainment are chiefly composed of the
strangers who are constantly passing in vast numbers through this city.
It is not worth the while of the management to pay a good company, when
an indifferent one answers their purpose quite as well: the system upon
which theatrical speculations are conducted in this country is, having
one or two "stars" for the principal characters, and nine or ten sticks
for all the rest. The consequence is, that a play is never decently
acted, and at such times as stars are scarce, the houses are very
deservedly empty. The terrestrial audiences suffer much by this mode of
getting up plays; but the celestial performers, the stars propped upon
sticks, infinitely more.
[20] Stewart--Bonfanti. The name of shopkeepers in Broadway: the
former's is the best shop in New York.
[21] Were the morality that I constantly hear uttered a little more
consistent, not only with right reason, but with itself, I think it
might be more deserving of attention and respect. But the mock delicacy,
which exists to so great a degree with regard to theatrical exhibitions,
can command neither the one nor the other. To those who forbid all
dramatic representations, as exhibitions of an unhealthy tendency upon
our intellectual and moral nature, I have no objections, at present, to
make. Unqualified condemnation, particularly when adopted on such
grounds, may be a sincere, a respectable, perhaps a right, opinion. I
have but one reply to offer to it: the human mind requires recreation;
is not a theatre (always supposing it to be, not what theatres too often
are, but what they ought to be), is not a theatre a better, a higher, a
more noble, and useful place of recreation than a billiard-room, or the
bar of a tavern? Perhaps in the course of the moral and intellectual
improvement of mankind, _all_ these will give way to yet purer and more
refined sources of recreation; but in the mean time, I confess, with its
manifold abuses, a play-house appears to me worthy of toleration, if not
of approbation, as holding forth (when directed as it should be) a
highly intellectual, rational, and refined amusement.
However, as I before said, my quarrel is not with those who condemn
indiscriminately all theatrical exhibitions; they may be right: at all
events, so sweeping a sentence betrays no inconsistency. But what are we
to say to individuals, or audiences, who turn with affected disgust from
the sallies of Bizarre and Beatrice, and who applaud and laugh, and are
delighted, at the gross immorality of such plays as the Wonder, and Rule
a Wife and have a Wife; the latter particularly, in which the immorality
and indecency are not those of expression only, but of conception, and
mingle in the whole construction of the piece, in which not one
character appears whose motives of action are not most unworthy, and
whose language is not as full of coarseness, as devoid of every
generous, elevated, or refined sentiment. (The tirades of Leon are no
exception; for in the mouth of a man who marries such a woman as
Marguerita, by such means, and for such an end, they are mere
mockeries.) I confess that my surprise was excited when I was told that
an American audience would not endure that portion of Beatrice's wit
which the London censors have spared, and that Othello was all but a
proscribed play; but it was infinitely more so, when I found that the
same audience tolerated, or rather encouraged with their presence and
applause, the coarse productions of Mrs. Centlivre and Beaumont and
Fletcher. With regard to the Inconstant, it is by far the most moral of
Farquhar's plays; that, perhaps, is little praise, for the Recruiting
Officer, and the Beaux' Stratagem, are decidedly the reverse. But in
spite of the licentiousness of the writing, in many parts, the
construction, the motive, the action of the play is not licentious; the
characters are far from being utterly debased in their conception, or
depraved in the sentiments they utter (excepting, of course, the
companions of poor Mirable's last revel); the women, those surest
criterions, by whose principles and conduct may be formed the truest
opinion of the purity of the social atmosphere, the women, though free
in their manners and language (it was the fashion of their times, and of
the times before them, when words did not pass for deeds, either good or
bad), are essentially honest women; and Bizarre, coarse as her
expressions may appear, has yet more _real_ delicacy than poor Oriana,
whose womanly love causes her too far to forget her womanly pride. Of
the catastrophe of this play, and its frightfully-pointed moral, little
need be said to prove that its effect is likely to be far more
wholesome, because far more homely, than that of most theatrical
inventions; invention, indeed, it is not, and its greatest interest, as
perhaps its chief utility, is drawn from the circumstance of its being a
faithful representation of a situation of unequalled horror, in which
the author himself was placed, and from which he was rescued precisely
as he extricates his hero. Of the truth and satirical power of the
dialogue, none who understand it can dispute; and if, instead of
attaching themselves to the farcical romping of Bizarre and her
ungallant lover, the modest critics of this play had devoted some
attention to the dialogues between young and old Mirable, their nice
sense of decency would have been less shocked, and they might have found
themselves repaid by some of the most pointed, witty, and pithy writing
in English dramatic literature. I am much obliged to such of my friends
as lamented that I had to personate Farquhar's impertinent heroine; for
my own good part, I would as lief be such a one, as either Jane Shore,
Mrs. Haller, Lady Macbeth, or the wild woman Bianca. I know that great
crimes have a species of evil grandeur in them; they spring only from a
powerful soil, they are in their very magnitude respectable. I know that
mighty passions have in their very excess a frightful majesty, that
asserts the vigour of the natures from which they rise; and there is as
little similarity between them, and the base, degraded, selfish,
cowardly tribe of petty larceny vices with which human societies abound,
as there is between the caterpillar blight, that crawls over a fertile
district, gnawing it away inch-meal, and the thunderbolt that scathes,
or the earthquake that swallows the same region, in its awful mission of
destruction. But I maintain that freedom of expression and manner is by
no means an indication of laxity of morals, and again repeat that
Bizarre is free in her words, but not in her principles. The authoress
of the most graceful and true analysis of Shakspeare's female characters
has offered a better vindication of their manners than I could write; I
can only say, I pity sincerely all those who, passing over the exquisite
purity, delicacy, and loveliness of their conception, dwell only upon
modes of expression which belong to the times in which their great
creator lived. With respect to the manner in which audiences are
affected by what they hear on the stage, I cannot but think that
gentlemen, who wish their wives and daughters to hear no language of an
exceptionable nature, had better make themselves acquainted with what
they take them to see, or, at all events, avoid, when in the theatre,
attracting their attention to expressions which their disapprobation
serves only to bring into notice, and which had much better escape
unheard, or at least unheeded. Voluminous as this note has become, I
cannot but add one word with respect to the members of the profession to
which I have belonged. Many actresses that I have known, in the
performance of unvirtuous or unlovely characters (I cannot, however,
help remembering that they were also secondary parts), have thought fit
to impress the audience with the wide difference between their assumed
and real disposition, by acting as ill, and looking as cross as they
possibly could, which could not but be a great satisfaction to any moral
audience. I have seen this done by that fine part in Milman's Fazio,
Aldabella, repeatedly, and not unfrequently by the Queen in Hamlet,
Margarita in Rule a Wife and have a Wife (I scarcely wonder at that,
though), and even by poor Shakspeare's Lady Falconbridge. I think this
is a mistake: the audience, I believe, never forget that the actress is
not indeed the wicked woman she seems. In one instance that might have
been the case, perhaps. I speak of a great artist, whose efforts I never
witnessed, but whose private excellence I have a near right to rejoice
in, and who was as true in her performance of the wretch Millwood, as in
her personifications of Shakspeare's grandest creations.
[22] The Russians and Danes are rich in the possession of an original
and most touching national music; Scotland, Ireland, and Wales, are
alike favoured with the most exquisite native melodies, probably, in the
world. France, though more barren in the wealth of sweet sounds, has a
few fine old airs, that redeem her from the charge of utter sterility.
Austria, Bohemia, and Switzerland, each claim a thousand beautiful and
characteristic mountain songs; Italy is the very palace of music,
Germany its temple; Spain resounds with wild and martial strains, and
the thick groves of Portugal with native music, of a softer and sadder
kind. All the nations of Europe, I presume all those of all the world,
possess some kind of national music, and are blessed by Heaven with some
measure of perception as to the loveliness of harmonious sounds. England
alone, England and her descendant America, seems to have been denied a
sense, to want a capacity, to have been stinted of a faculty, to the
possession of which she vainly aspires. The rich spirit of Italian
music, the solemn soul of German melody, the wild free Euterpe of the
Cantons, have in vain been summoned by turns to teach her how to listen;
'tis all in vain--she does listen painfully; she has learnt by dint of
time, and much endurance, the technicalities of musical science; she
pays regally her instructors in the divine pleasure, but all in vain:
the spirit of melody is not in her; and in spite of hosts of foreign
musicians, in spite of the King's Theatre, in spite of Pasta, in spite
of music-masters paid like ministers of state, in spite of singing and
playing young ladies, and criticising young gentlemen, England, to the
last day of her life, will be a dunce in music, for she hath it not in
her; neither, if I am not much mistaken, hath her daughter.
[23] It is but justice to state, that this house has passed into other
hands, and is much improved in every respect. Strangers, particularly
Englishmen, will find a great convenience in the five o'clock ordinary,
now established there, which is, I am told, excellently conducted and
appointed.
[24] The whole of this passage is in fact a succession of small bays,
forming a continuation to the grand bay of New York, and dividing Staten
Island from the mainland of New Jersey; the Raritan river does not
properly begin till Amboy, where it empties itself into a bay of its own
name.
[25] I had always heard that the face of nature was gigantic in America;
and truly we found the wrinkles such for so young a country. The ruts
were absolute abysses.
[26] The southern, western, and eastern states of North America have
each their strong peculiarities of enunciation, which render them easy
of recognition. The Virginian and New England accents appear to me the
most striking; Pennsylvania and New York have much less brogue; but
through all their various tones and pronunciations a very strong nasal
inflection preserves their universal brotherhood. They all speak through
their noses, and at the top of their voices. Of dialects, properly so
called, there are none; though a few expressions, peculiar to particular
states, which generally serve to identify their citizens; but these are
not numerous, and a jargon approaching in obscurity that of many of our
counties is not to be met with. The language used in society generally
is unrefined, inelegant, and often ungrammatically vulgar; but it is
more vulgar than unintelligible by far.
[27] This appears to me to be a most frequent ailment among the American
ladies: they must have particularly bilious constitutions. I never
remember travelling in a steam-boat, on the smoothest water, without
seeing sundry "afflicted fair ones," who complained bitterly of
_sea-sickness_ in the river.
[28] In spite of its beauty, or rather on that very account, an American
autumn is to me particularly sad. It presents a union of beauty and
decay, that for ever reminds me of that loveliest disguise death puts
on, when the cheek is covered with roses, and the eyes are like stars,
and the life is perishing away; even so appear the gorgeous colours of
the withering American woods. 'Tis a whole forest dying of consumption.
[29] The magnolia and azalia are two of these; and earlier in the
summer, the whole country looks like fairy-land, with the profuse and
lovely blossoms of the wild laurel, an evergreen shrub unequalled for
its beauty, and which absolutely overruns every patch of uncultivated
ground. I wonder none of our parks have yet been adorned with it: it is
a hardy plant, and I should think would thrive admirably in England.
[30] In the opening chapter of that popular work, Eugene Aram, are the
following words:--"It has been observed, and there is a world of homely,
ay, and of legislative knowledge in the observation, that wherever you
see a flower in a cottage garden, or a bird-cage at the window, you may
feel sure that the cottagers are better and wiser than their
neighbours." The truth of this observation is indisputable. But for such
"humble tokens of attention to something beyond the _sterile labour_ of
life" you look in vain during a progress through this country. In New
England alone, neatness and a certain endeavour at rustic elegance and
adornment, in the cottages and country residences, recall those of their
fatherland; and the pleasure of the traveller is immeasurably heightened
by this circumstance. If the wild beauties of uncultivated nature lead
our contemplations to our great Maker, these lowly witnesses of the
industry and natural refinement of the laborious cultivator of the soil
warm our heart with sympathy for our kind, and the cheering conviction
that, however improved by cultivation, the sense of beauty, and the love
of what is lovely, have been alike bestowed upon all our race; 'tis a
wholesome conviction, which the artificial divisions of society too
often cause us to lose sight of. The labourer, who, after "sweating in
the eye of Phoebus" all the day, at evening trains the fragrant jasmine
round his lowly door, is the very same man who, in other circumstances,
would have been the refined and liberal patron of those arts which
reflect the beauty of nature.
[31] In all my progress I looked in vain for the refreshing sight of a
hedge--no such thing was to be seen; and their extreme rarity throughout
the country renders the more cultivated parts of it arid looking and
comparatively dreary. These crooked fences in the south, and stone walls
to the north, form the divisions of the fields, instead of those
delicious "hedge-rows green," where the old elms delight to grow, where
the early violets and primroses first peep sheltered forth, where the
hawthorn blossoms sweeten the summer, the honeysuckle hangs its yellow
garlands in the autumn, and the red "hips and haws" shine like bushes of
earthly coral in the winter.
But the Americans are in too great a hurry to plant hedges: they have
abundance of native material; but a wooden fence is put up in a few
weeks, a hedge takes as many years to grow; and, as I said before, an
American has not time to be a year about anything. When first the
country was settled, the wood was an encumbrance, and it was cut down
accordingly: that is by no means the case now; and the only
recommendation of these fences is, therefore, the comparative rapidity
with which they can be constructed. One of the most amiable and
distinguished men of this country once remarked to me, that the
Americans were in too great a hurry about every thing they undertook to
bring any thing to perfection. And certainly, as far as my observation
goes, I should _calculate_ that an American is born, lives, and dies
twice as fast as any other human creature. I believe one of the great
inducements to this national hurry is, that "time is money," which is
true; but it is also true, sometimes, that "most haste makes worst
speed."
[32] These are two very pretty villages, of Quaker origin, situated in
the midst of a fertile and lovely country, and much resorted to during
the summer season by the Philadelphians.
[33] It has happened to me after a few hours' travelling in a steam-boat
to find the white dress, put on fresh in the morning, covered with
yellow tobacco stains; nor is this very offensive habit confined to the
lower orders alone. I have seen _gentlemen_ spit upon the carpet of the
room where they were sitting, in the company of women, without the
slightest remorse; and I remember once seeing a gentleman, who was
travelling with us, very deliberately void his tobacco-juice into the
bottom of the coach, instead of through the windows, to my inexpressible
disgust.
[34] I wish that somebody would be so obliging as to impress people in
general with the extreme excellence of a perception of the _fitness of
things_. Besides the intrinsic beauty of works of art, they have a
beauty derived from their appropriateness to the situations in which
they are placed, and their harmony with the objects which surround them:
this minor species of beauty is yet a very great one. If it were more
studied, and better understood, public buildings would no longer appear
as if they had fallen out of the clouds by chance; parks and plantations
would no more have the appearance of nurseries, where the trees were
classed by kind, instead of being massed according to their various
forms and colours; and Gothic and classic edifices would not so often
seem as if they had forsaken their appropriate situations, to rear
themselves in climates, and among scenery, with which they in no way
harmonise.
[35] Politics of all sorts, I confess, are far beyond my limited powers
of comprehension. Those of this country, as far as I have been able to
observe, resolve themselves into two great motives,--the aristocratic
desire of elevation and separation, and the democratic desire of
demolishing and levelling. Whatever may be the immediate cause of
excitement or discussion, these are the two master-springs to which they
are referable. Every man in America is a politician; and political
events, of importance only because they betray the spirit which would be
called into play by more stirring occasions, are occurring incessantly,
and keeping alive the interest which high and low alike take in the
evolutions of their political machine. Elections of state officers,
elections of civil authorities, all manner of elections (for America is
one perpetual contest for votes), are going on all the year round; and
whereas the politics of men of private stations in other countries are
kept quietly by them, and exhibited only on occasions of general
excitement, those of an American are as inseparable from him as his
clothes, and mix up with his daily discharge of his commonest daily
avocations. I was extremely amused at seeing over a hat-shop in New York
one day, "Anti-Bank Hat-Store," written in most attractive characters,
as an inducement for all good democrats to go in and purchase their
beavers of so republican a hatter. The universal-suffrage system is of
course the cause of this general political mania; and during an election
of mayor or aldermen, the good shopkeepers of New York are in as fierce
a state of excitement as if the choice of a perpetual dictator were the
question in point. Politics is the main subject of conversation among
American men in society; but, as I said before, the immediate object of
discussion being most frequently some petty local interest or other,
strangers cannot derive much pleasure from, or feel much sympathy in,
the debate.
[36] I have often thought that the constant demand for small theatres,
which I have heard made by persons of the higher classes of society in
England, was a great proof of the decline of the more imaginative
faculties among them; and the proportionate increase of that fastidious
and critical spirit, which is so far removed from every thing which
constitutes the essence of poetry. The idea of illusion in a dramatic
exhibition is confined to the Christmas spectators of old tragedies and
new pantomimes; the more refined portions of our English audiences yawn
through Shakspeare's historical plays, and _quiz_ through those which
are histories of human nature and its awful passions. They have
forgotten what human nature really is, and cannot even _imagine it_.
They require absolute reality on the stage, because their incapable
spirits scoff at poetical truth; and that absolute reality, in our days,
consists in such representations as the Rent Day; or (crossing the
water, for we dearly love what is foreign) the homely improbabilities of
Victorine, Henriette, and a pack of equally worthless subjects of
exhibition. Indeed, theatres have had an end; for the refined, the
highly educated, the first classes of society, they have had an end; it
will be long, however, before the mass is sufficiently refined to lose
all power of imagination; and while our aristocracy patronise French
melodramas, and seek their excitement in the most trashy
sentimentalities of the modern _école romantique_, I have some hopes
that our plebeian pits and galleries may still retain their sympathy for
the loves of Juliet and the sorrows of Ophelia. I would rather a
thousand times act either of those parts to a set of Manchester
mechanics, than to the most select of our aristocracy, for they are
"nothing, if not critical."
[37] Kean is gone--and with him are gone Othello, Shylock, and Richard.
I have lived among those whose theatrical creed would not permit them to
acknowledge him as a great actor; but they must be bigoted, indeed, who
would deny that he was a great genius, a man of most original and
striking powers, careless of art, perhaps because he did not need it;
but possessing those rare gifts of nature, without which art alone is as
a dead body. Who that ever heard will ever forget the beauty, the
unutterable tenderness, of his reply to Desdemona's entreaties for
Cassio, "Let him come when he will, I can deny thee nothing;" the deep
despondency of his "Oh, now farewell;" the miserable anguish of his "Oh,
Desdemona, away, away!" Who that ever saw will ever forget the
fascination of his dying eyes in Richard, when, deprived of his sword,
the wondrous power of his look seemed yet to avert the uplifted arm of
Richmond. If he was irregular and unartistlike in his performances, so
is Niagara, compared with the water-works of Versailles.
[38] I have acted Ophelia three times with my father, and each time, in
that beautiful scene where his madness and his love gush forth together
like a torrent swollen with storms, that bears a thousand blossoms on
its troubled waters, I have experienced such deep emotion as hardly to
be able to speak. The exquisite tenderness of his voice, the wild
compassion and forlorn pity of his looks bestowing that on others which,
above all others, he most needed; the melancholy restlessness, the
bitter self-scorning; every shadow of expression and intonation was so
full of all the mingled anguish that the human heart is capable of
enduring, that my eyes scarce fixed on his ere they filled with tears;
and long before the scene was over, the letters and jewel-cases I was
tendering to him were wet with them. The hardness of professed actors
and actresses is something amazing: after acting this part, I could not
but recall the various Ophelias I have seen, and commend them for the
astonishing absence of every thing like feeling which they exhibited.
Oh, it made my heart sore to act it.
[39] I am speaking now only of the common saddle-horses that one sees
about the streets and roads. The southern breed of race-horses is a
subject of great interest and care to all sporting men here: they are
very beautiful animals, of a remarkably slight and delicate make. But
the perfection of horses in this country are those trained for trotting:
their speed is almost incredible. I have been whirled along in a
light-built carriage by a pair of famous professed trotters, who
certainly got over the ground at the rate of a moderate-going
steam-engine, and this without ever for a moment breaking into a gallop.
The fondness of the Americans for this sort of horses, however, is one
reason why one can so rarely obtain a well-mouthed riding-horse. These
trotters are absolutely carried on the bit, and require only a snaffle,
and an arm of iron to hold them up. A horse well set upon his haunches
is not to be met with; and owing to this mode of breaking, their action
is entirely from the head and shoulders; and they both look and feel as
if they would tumble down on their noses.
[40] Except where they have been made political tools, newspaper writers
and editors have never, I believe, been admitted into good society in
England. It is otherwise here: newspapers are the main literature of
America; and I have frequently heard it quoted, as a proof of a man's
abilities, that he writes in such and such a newspaper. Besides the
popularity to be obtained by it, it is often attended with no small
literary consideration; and young men here, with talents of a really
high order, and who might achieve far better things, too often are
content to accept this very mediocre mode of displaying their abilities,
at very little expense of thought or study, and neglect far worthier
objects of ambition, and the rewards held out by a distant and permanent
fame. I know that half my young gentlemen acquaintance here would reply,
that they must live in the mean time: and it is a real and deep evil,
arising from the institutions of this country, that every man must toil
from day to day for his daily bread; and in this degrading and
spirit-loading care, all other nobler desires are smothered. It is a
great national misfortune.
[41] This delightful virtue of neatness is carried almost to an
inconvenient pitch by the worthy Philadelphians: the town, every now and
then, appears to be in a perfect frenzy of cleanliness; and of a
Saturday morning, early, the streets are really impassable, except to a
good swimmer. "Cleanliness," says the old saw, "is near to godliness."
Philadelphia must be very near heaven.
[42] The final result of our very unfortunate dealings with this
gentleman is, that our earnings (and they are not lightly come by), to
the amount of near three thousand dollars, are at this moment in the
hands of a trustee, and Heaven and a New England court of justice will
decide whether they are ever to come into ours.
[43] When we arrived in America, we brought letters of introduction to
several persons in New York: many were civil enough to call upon us: we
were invited out to sundry parties, and were introduced into what is
there called the first society. I do not wish to enter into any
description of it, but will only say that I was most disagreeably
astonished; and had it been my fate to have passed through the country
as rapidly as most travellers do, I should have carried away a very
unfavourable impression of the _best_ society of New York. Fortunately,
however, for me, my visits were repeated, and my stay prolonged; and, in
the course of time, I became acquainted with many individuals whose
manners and acquirements were of a high order, and from whose
intercourse I derived the greatest gratification. But they generally did
me the favour to visit me; and I still could not imagine how it happened
that I never met them at the parties to which I was invited, and in the
circles where I visited. I soon discovered that they formed a society
among themselves, where all those qualities which I had looked for among
the self-styled _best_ were to be found. When I name Miss Sedgwick,
Halleck, Irving, Bryant, Paulding, and some of less fame, but whose
acquirements rendered their companionship delightful indeed, amongst
whom I felt proud and happy to find several of my own name, it will no
longer appear singular that they should feel too well satisfied with the
resources of their own society, either to mingle in that of the vulgar
_fashionables_, or seek with avidity the acquaintance of every stranger
that arrives in New York. It is not to be wondered at that foreigners
have spoken as they have of what is termed fashionable society here, or
have condemned, with unqualified censure, the manners and tone
prevailing in it. Their condemnations are true and just as regards what
they see; nor, perhaps, would they be much inclined to moderate them
when they found that persons possessing every quality that can render
intercourse between rational creatures desirable were held in light
esteem, and neglected, as either bores, blues, or dowdies, by those so
infinitely their inferiors in every worthy accomplishment. The same
separation, or, if any thing, a still stronger one, subsists in
Philadelphia between the self-styled fashionables and the really good
society. The distinction there is really of a nature perfectly
ludicrous. A friend of mine was describing to me a family whose manners
were unexceptionable and whose mental accomplishments were of a high
order: upon my expressing some surprise that I had never met with them,
my informant replied, "Oh, no, they are not received by the Chestnut
Street _set_." If I were called upon to define that society in New York
and Philadelphia which ranks (by right of self-arrogation) as first and
best, I should say it is a purely dancing society, where a fiddle is
indispensable to keep its members awake; and where their brains and
tongues seem, by common consent, to feel that they had much better give
up the care of mutual entertainment to the feet of the parties
assembled; and they judge well. Now, I beg leave clearly to be
understood, there is another, and a far more desirable circle; but it is
not the one into which strangers find their way generally. To an
Englishman, this _fashionable_ society presents, indeed, a pitiful
sample of lofty pretensions without adequate foundation. Here is a
constant endeavour to imitate those states of European society which
have for their basis the feudal spirit of the early ages, and which are
rendered venerable by their rank, powerful by their wealth, and refined,
and in some degree respectable, by great and general mental cultivation.
Of Boston, I have not spoken. The society there is of an infinitely
superior order. A very general degree of information, and a much greater
simplicity of manners, render it infinitely more agreeable. But of that
hereafter.
[44] The beautiful villas on the banks of the Schuylkill are all either
utterly deserted and half ruinous, or let out by the proprietors to
tavern-keepers. The reason assigned for this is, that during that season
of the year when it would be most desirable to reside there, the fever
and ague takes possession of the place, and effectually banishes all
other occupants. This very extraordinary and capricious malady is as
uncertain in its residence, as unwelcome where it does fix its abode.
The courses of some of the rivers, and even whole tracts of country away
from the vicinity of the water, have been desolated by it: from these it
has passed away entirely, and removed itself to other districts, before
remarkably healthy. Sometimes it visits particular places at intervals
of one or two seasons; sometimes it attaches itself to one side of a
river, and leaves the inhabitants of the other in the enjoyment of
perfect health; in short, it is quite as unaccountable in its
proceedings as a fine lady. Many causes have been assigned as its
origin; which, however, have varied in credibility at almost every new
appearance of the malady. The enormous quantity of decaying vegetation
with which the autumn woods are strewn, year after year, till it
absolutely forms a second soil; the dam lately erected by the
water-works, and which, intercepting the tide, causes occasional
stagnation; the unwholesome action of water lodging in hollows in the
rocks; are all reasons which have been given to me when I have enquired
about this terrible nuisance along the banks of the Schuylkill: but
there is another, and one which appeared so obvious to me, that when
first I saw it, I felt much inclined to attribute the fever and ague to
that, and to that alone. I allude to a foul and stagnant ditch, lying
between the tow-path and the grounds of these country houses, of nearly
a mile in length, and of considerable width. When I saw the sun pouring
its intense light down into this muddy pool, covered with thick and
unwholesome incrustations, I could not help remarking that this alone
was quite sufficient to breed a malaria in the whole neighbourhood; and
that if the gentlemen proprietors of the lands along this part of the
river would drain this very poisonous-looking repository for bull-frogs,
their dwellings would, in all probability, be free from fever and ague.
[45] This beautiful younger world appears to me to have received the
portion of the beloved younger son--the "coat of many colours."
[46] This country is in one respect blessed above all others, and above
all others deserving of blessing. There are no poor--I say there are
none, there _need_ be none; none here need lift up the despairing voice
of hopeless and helpless want towards that Heaven which hears when men
will not. No father here need work away his body's health, and his
spirit's strength, in unavailing labour, from day to day, and from year
to year, bowed down by the cruel curse his fellows lay upon him. No
mother need wish, in the bitterness of her heart, that the children of
her breast had died before they exhausted that nourishment which was the
only one her misery could feel assured would not fail them. None need be
born to vice, for none are condemned to abject poverty. Oh, it makes the
heart sick to think of all the horrible anguish that has been suffered
by thousands and thousands of those wretched creatures, whose want
begets a host of moral evils fearful to contemplate; whose existence
begins in poverty, struggles on through care and toil, and
heart-grinding burdens, and ends in destitution, in sickness,--alas! too
often in crime and infamy. Thrice blessed is this country, for no such
crying evil exists in its bosom; no such moral reproach, no such
political rottenness. Not only is the eye never offended with those
piteous sights of human suffering, which make one's heart bleed, and
whose number appals one's imagination in the thronged thoroughfares of
the European cities; but the mind reposes with delight in the certainty
that not one human creature is here doomed to suffer and to weep through
life; not one immortal soul is thrown into jeopardy by the combined
temptations of its own misery, and the heartless selfishness of those
who pass it by without holding out so much as a finger to save it. If we
have any faith in the excellence of mercy and benevolence, we must
believe that this alone will secure the blessing of Providence on this
country.
[47] Throughout all the northern states, and particularly those of New
England, the Unitarian form of faith prevails very extensively. It
appears to me admirably suited to the spiritual necessities of this
portion of the Americans. They are a reasoning, not an imaginative,
race; moreover, they are a hard-working, not an idle, one. It therefore
suits their necessities, as well as their character, to have a religious
creed divested at once of mysteries at which the rational mind excepts;
and of long and laborious ceremonies, which too often engross the time
without the attention of the worshipper. They are poor, too,
comparatively speaking; and, were they so inclined, could little afford,
either the splendid pageantry which the Romish priesthood require, or
the less glaring but not less expensive revenues which the Episcopalian
clergy enjoy. Their form of religion is a simple one, a short one, and a
cheap one. Without attempting to discuss its excellence in the abstract,
it certainly appears to me to be as much fitted for this people, as the
marvellous legends and magnificent shows of the Romish church were to
the early European nations. The church in America is not, as with us,
made a mere means of living: there are no rich benefices, or
over-swelled bishoprics, to be hoped for, by the man who devotes himself
to the service of God's altar: the pecuniary remuneration of the clergy
depends upon the generosity of their congregations; and, for the most
part, a sincere love of his vocation must be the American minister's
reward, as it was his original instigation to the work.
[48] Whatever progress phrenology may have made in the convictions of
people in general, it is much to be hoped that the physiological
principles to which, in the development of their system, its professors
constantly advert, may find favour even with those who are not prepared
to admit the truth of the new philosophy of the human intellect. While
we have bodies as well as souls, we must take care of the health of our
bodies, if we wish our souls to be healthy. I have heard many people
mention the intimate union of spirit and matter, displayed in the
existence of a human being, as highly degrading to the former; however
that may be, it is certain that we by no means show our value for the
one, by neglecting and maltreating the other: and that if, instead of
lamenting over the unworthiness of the soul's fleshy partner, we were to
improve and correct and endeavour to ennoble it, we should do the wiser
thing. Upon a well-regulated digestion and circulation, and a healthful
nervous system, many of our virtues depend, much of our happiness; and
it is almost as impossible to possess a healthy and vigorous mind in a
diseased and debilitated body, as it is unusual to see a strong and
healthful body allied to an intemperate and ill-governed spirit. We have
some value for the casket which contains our jewel: then should we not
have some for that casket to which the jewel absolutely adheres, and
which cannot suffer injury itself without communicating it to that which
it contains? Exercise, regularity, and moderation in diet and sleep,
well-proportioned and varied studies and recreations,--these are none of
them subjects of trivial importance to the wise. Much of our ease and
contentedness depends upon them; much of our well-being, much of our
_well-doing_.
[49] I think it has not been my good fortune, in more than six
instances, during my residence in this country, to find ladies "at home"
in the morning. The first reason for this is, the total impossibility of
having a housekeeper; the American servants steadfastly refusing to obey
_two_ mistresses; the being subservient to any appears, indeed, a
dreadful hardship to them. Of course this compels the lady of the house
to enter into all those minute daily details, which with us devolve upon
the superintendent servant, and she is thus condemned, at least for some
part of the morning, to the store-room or the kitchen. In consequence of
this, her toilet is seldom completed until about to take her morning
promenade; and I have been a good deal surprised, more than once, at
being told, when I called, that "the ladies were dressing, but would be
down immediately." This is French; the disorderly slouching about half
the morning in a careless undress being, unluckily, quite compatible
with that exquisite niceness of appearance with which the Parisian
ladies edify their streets so much, and their homes so little. Another
very disagreeable result of this arrangement is, that when you are
admitted into a house in the morning, the rooms appear as if they never
were used: there are no books lying about, no work-tables covered with
evidences of constant use, and if there is a piano, it is generally
closed; the whole giving one an uninhabited feel that is extremely
uncomfortable. As to a morning lounge in a lady's boudoir, or a
gentleman's library, the thing's unheard of; to be sure there are no
loungers, where every man is tied to a counting-house from morning till
night; and therefore no occasion for those very pleasant sanctums
devoted to gossiping, political, literary, and scandalous.
[50] I am sure there is no town in Europe where my father could fix his
residence for a week, without being immediately found out by most of the
residents of any literary acquirements, or knowledge of matters relating
to art; I am sure that neither in France, Italy, or Germany, could he
take up his abode in any city, without immediately being sought by those
best worth knowing in it. I confess it surprised me, therefore, when I
found that, during a month's residence in Philadelphia, scarcely a
creature came near us, and but one house was hospitably opened to us; as
regards myself, I have no inclination whatever to speak upon the subject
but it gave me something like a feeling of contempt, not only for the
charities, but for the good taste of the Philadelphians, when I found
them careless and indifferent towards one whose name alone is a passport
into every refined and cultivated society in Europe. Every where else,
in America, our reception was very different; and I can only attribute
the want of courtesy we met with in Philadelphia to the greater
prevalence of that very small spirit of dignity which is always afraid
of committing itself.
[51] The familiar appellation by which the democracy designate their
favourite, General Jackson. The hickory wood is the tallest and the
toughest possible, and by no means a bad type of some of the President's
physical and moral attributes. Hickory poles, as they are called, are
erected before most of the taverns frequented by the thorough-going
Jacksonites; and they are sometimes surmounted by the glorious "Cap of
Liberty," that much abused symbol, which has presided over so many
scenes of political frenzy.
[52] In beholding this fine young giant of a world, with all its
magnificent capabilities for greatness, I think every Englishman must
feel unmingled regret at the unjust and unwise course of policy which
alienated such a child from the parent government. But, at the same
time, it is impossible to avoid seeing that some other course must, ere
long, have led to the same result, even if England had pursued a more
maternal course of conduct towards America. No one, beholding this
enormous country, stretching from ocean to ocean, watered with ten
thousand glorious rivers, combining every variety of climate and soil,
therefore, every variety of produce and population; possessing within
itself every resource that other nations are forced either to buy
abroad, or to create substitutes for at home; no one, seeing the
internal wealth of America, the abundant fertility of the earth's
surface, the riches heaped below it, the unparalleled facilities for the
intercourse of men, and the interchange of their possessions throughout
its vast extent, can for an instant indulge the thought that such a
country was ever destined to be an appendage to any other in the world,
or that any chain of circumstances whatever could have long maintained
in dependence a people furnished with every means of freedom and
greatness. But far from regretting that America has thrown off her
allegiance, and regarding her as a rebellious subject and irreverent
child, England will surely, ere long, learn to look upon this country as
the inheritor of her glory; the younger England, destined to perpetuate
the language, the memory, the virtues, of the noble land from which she
is descended. Loving and honouring my country as I do, I cannot look
upon America with any feeling of hostility. I not only hear the voice of
England in the language of this people, but I recognise in all their
best qualities, their industry, their honesty, their sturdy independence
of spirit, the very witnesses of their origin--they are English; no
other people in the world would have licked us as they did; nor any
other people in the world built up, upon the ground they won, so sound,
and strong, and fair an edifice.
With regard to what I have said in the beginning of this note, of the
many reasons which combined to render this country independent of all
others, I think they in some measure tell against the probability of its
long remaining at unity with itself. Such numerous and clashing
interests; such strong and opposite individuality of character between
the northern and southern states; above all, such enormous extent of
country; seem rationally to present many points of insecurity, many
probabilities of separations and breakings asunder; but all this lies
far on, and I leave it to those who have good eyes for a distance.
[53] I think the pretension to pre-eminence, in the various societies of
North America, is founded on these grounds. In Boston, a greater degree
of mental cultivation; in New York, the possession of wealth; and a
lady, of whom I enquired the other day what constituted the superiority
of the _aristocracy_ in Philadelphia, replied,--"Why, birth, to be
sure." Virginia and Carolina, indeed, long prided themselves upon their
old family names, which were once backed by large possessions; and for
many years the southern gentlemen might not improperly be termed the
aristocracy of America; but the estates of those who embraced the king's
cause during the rebellion were confiscated; and the annulling the laws
of entail and primogeniture, and the parcelling out of property under
the republican form of government, have gradually destroyed the fortunes
of most of the old southern families. Still, they hold fast to the
spirit of their former superiority, and from this circumstance, and the
possession of slaves, which exempts them from the drudgery of earning
their livelihood, they are a much less mercantile race of men than those
of the northern states; generally better informed, and infinitely more
polished in their manners. The few southerners with whom I have become
acquainted resemble Europeans both in their accomplishments, and the
quiet and reserve of their manners. On my remarking, one day, to a
Philadelphia gentleman, whose general cultivation keeps pace with his
political and financial talents, how singular the contrast was between
the levelling spirit of this government, and the separating and dividing
spirit of American society, he replied, that, if his many vocations
allowed him time, he should like to write a novel, illustrating the
curious struggle which exists throughout this country between its
political and its social institutions. The anomaly is, indeed, striking.
Democracy governs the land; whilst, throughout society, a contrary
tendency shows itself, wherever it can obtain the very smallest
opportunity. It is unfortunate for America that its aristocracy must, of
necessity, be always one of wealth.
[54] Of course the captain is undisputed master of the boat, and any
disorders, quarrels, etc., which may arise, are settled by his
authority. Any passenger, guilty of misbehaviour, is either confined or
sent immediately on shore, no matter how far from his intended
destination. I once saw very summary justice performed on a troublesome
fellow who was disturbing the whole society on board one of the North
River steamers. He was put into the small boat with the captain and a
stout-looking sailor, and very comfortably deposited on some rafts which
were floating along shore, about twenty miles below West Point, whither
he was bound.
[55] The quantity of one's companions in these conveyances is not more
objectionable than their quality sometimes. As they are the only
vehicles, and the fares charged are extremely low, it follows,
necessarily, that all classes and sorts of people congregate in them,
from the ragged Irish emigrant and the boorish back-countryman, to the
gentleman of the senate, the supreme court, and the president himself.