When the intolerable heat of the day has subsided, I sometimes take a
languid stroll through the streets of the city, not unamused, not
altogether unobserving, though unable to profit much by what I see and
hear. There are many new houses building, and many new streets laid out.
In the principal street, called the Jefferson Avenue, there are rows of
large and handsome brick houses; the others are generally of wood,
painted white, with bright green doors and windows. The footway in many
of the streets is, like that of Toronto, of planks, which for my own
part I like better than the burning brick or stone _pave_. The crowd of
emigrants constantly pouring through this little city on their way to
the back settlements of the west, and the number of steamers, brigs, and
schooners always passing up and down the lakes, occasion a perpetual
bustle, variety, and animation on the shores and in the streets.
Forty-two steamers touch at the port. In one of the Detroit papers
(there are five or six published here either daily or weekly) I found a
long column, headed Marine Intelligence, giving an account of the
arrival and departure of the shipping. Last year the profits of the
steam-boats averaged seventy or eighty per cent., one with another: this
year it is supposed that many will lose. There are several boats which
ply regularly between Detroit and some of the new-born cities on the
south shore of Lake Erie--Sandusky, Cleveland, Port Clinton, Monroe, &c.
The navigation of the Detroit river is generally open from the beginning
of April to the end of November. In the depth of winter they pass and
repass from the British to the American shore on the ice.
There are some excellent shops in the town, a theatre, and a great
number of taverns and gaming-houses:--also a great number of
booksellers' shops; and I read in the papers long lists of books, newly
arrived and unpacked, which the public are invited to inspect.
Wishing to borrow some books, to while away the long solitary hours in
which I am _obliged_ to rest, I asked for a circulating library, and
was directed to the only one in the place. I had to ascend a steep
staircase--so disgustingly dirty, that it was necessary to draw my
drapery carefully around me to escape pollution. On entering a large
room, unfurnished except with book shelves, I found several men sitting
or rather sprawling upon chairs, and reading the newspapers. The
collection of books was small; but they were not of a common or vulgar
description. I found some of the best modern publications in French and
English. The man--gentleman I should say, for all are gentlemen
here--who stood behind the counter, neither moved his hat from his head,
nor bowed on my entrance, nor showed any officious anxiety to serve or
oblige; but, with this want of what _we_ English consider due courtesy,
there was no deficiency of real civility--far from it. When I inquired
on what terms I might have some books to read, this gentleman desired I
would take any books I pleased, and not think about payment or deposit.
I remonstrated, and represented that I was a stranger at an inn--that my
stay was uncertain, &c.; and the reply was, that from a lady and a
stranger he could not think of receiving remuneration: and then gave
himself some trouble to look out the books I wished for, which I took
away with me. He did not even ask the name of the hotel at which I was
staying; and when I returned the books, persisted in declining all
payment from "a lady and a stranger."
Whatever attention and politeness may be tendered to me, in either
character, as a lady or as a stranger, I am always glad to receive from
any one, in any shape. In the present instance, I could indeed have
dispensed with the _form_: a pecuniary obligation, small or large, not
being much to my taste; but what was meant for courtesy, I accepted
courteously--and so the matter ended.
Nations differ in their idea of good manners, as they do on the subject
of beauty--a far less conventional thing. But there exists luckily a
standard for each, in reference to which we cannot err, and to which the
progress of civilisation will, it is to be hoped, bring us all nearer
and nearer still. For the type of perfection in physical beauty we go to
Greece, and for that of politeness we go to the gospel. As it is
written in a charming little book I have just bought here,--"He who
should embody and manifest the virtues taught in Christ's sermon on the
Mount, would, though he had never seen a drawing-room, nor ever heard of
the artificial usages of society, commend himself to all nations, the
most refined as well as the most simple."[20]
If you look upon the map, you will find that the Detroit River, so
called, is rather a strait or channel about thirty miles in length, and
in breadth from one to two or three miles, dividing the British from the
American shore. Through this channel all the waters of the upper lakes,
Michigan, Superior, and Huron, come pouring down on their way to the
ocean. Here, at Detroit, the breadth of the river does not exceed a
mile. A pretty little steamer, gaily painted, with streamers flying, and
shaded by an awning, is continually passing and repassing from shore to
shore. I have sometimes sat in this ferry-boat for a couple of hours
together, pleased to remain still, and enjoy, without exertion, the cool
air, the sparkling redundant waters, and green islands:--amused,
meantime, by the variety and conversation of the passengers, English
emigrants, and French Canadians; brisk Americans; dark, sad-looking
Indians folded in their blankets; farmers, storekeepers, speculators in
wheat; artisans; trim girls with black eyes and short petticoats,
speaking a Norman _patois_, and bringing baskets of fruit to the Detroit
market; over-dressed, long-waisted, damsels of the city, attended by
their beaux, going to make merry on the opposite shore. The passage is
not of more than ten minutes duration, yet there is a tavern bar on the
lower deck, and a constant demand for cigars, liquors, and mint
julep--by the _men_ only, I pray you to observe, and the Americans
chiefly; I never saw the French peasants ask for drink.
[Footnote 20: "Home," by Miss Sedgwick.]
* * * * *