Journey to New York—Delaware River—Stagecoach—City of New
York—Collegiate Institute for Young Ladies—Theatres—Public
Garden—Churches—Morris Canal—Fashions—Carriages
At length, in spite of the lingering pace necessarily attending
consultations, and arrangements across the Atlantic, our plans were
finally settled; the coming spring was to show us New York, and
Niagara, and the early summer was to convey us home.
No sooner did the letter arrive which decided this, than we began our
preparations for departure. We took our last voyage on the Potomac, we
bade a last farewell to Virginia, and gave a last day to some of our
kind friends near Washington.
The spring, though slow and backward, was sufficiently advanced to
render the journey pleasant; and though the road from Washington to
Baltimore was less brilliant in foliage than when I had seen it before,
it still had much of beauty. The azalias were in full bloom, and the
delicate yellow blossom of the sassafras almost rivalled its fruit in
beauty.
At Baltimore we again embarked on a gigantic steam-boat, and reached
Philadelphia in the middle of the night. Here we changed our boat and
found time, before starting in the morning, to take a last look at the
Doric and Corinthian porticos of the two celebrated temples dedicated
to Mammon.
The Delaware river, above Philadelphia, still flows through a landscape
too level for beauty, but it is rendered interesting by a succession of
gentlemen’s seats, which, if less elaborately finished in architecture,
and garden grounds, than the lovely villas on the Thames, are still
beautiful objects to gaze upon as you float rapidly past on the broad
silvery stream that washes their lawns They present a picture of wealth
and enjoyment that accords well with the noble city to which they are
an appendage. One mansion arrested our attention, not only from its
being more than usually large and splendid, but from its having the
monument which marked the family resting-place, rearing itself in all
the gloomy grandeur of black and white marble, exactly opposite the
door of entrance.
In Virginia and Maryland we had remarked that almost every family
mansion had its little grave yard, sheltered by locust and cypress
trees; but this decorated dwelling of the dead seemed rather a
melancholy ornament in the grounds.
We had, for a considerable distance, a view of the dwelling of Joseph
Bonaparte, which is situated on the New Jersey shore, in the midst of
an extensive tract of land, of which he is the proprietor.
Here the ex-monarch has built several houses, which are occupied by
French tenants. The country is very flat, but a terrace of two sides
has been raised, commanding a fine reach of the Delaware River; at the
point where this terrace forms a right angle, a lofty chapel has been
erected, which looks very much like an observatory; I admired the
ingenuity with which the Catholic prince has united his religion and
his love of a fine terrestrial prospect. The highest part of the
building presents, in every direction, the appearance of an immense
cross; the transept, if I may so express it, being formed by the
projection of an ample balcony, which surrounds a tower. A Quaker
gentleman, from Philadelphia, exclaimed, as he gazed on the mansion,
“There we see a monument of fallen royalty! Strange! that dethroned
kings should seek and find their best strong-hold in a Republic.”
There was more of philosophy than of scorn in his accent, and his
countenance was the symbol of gentleness and benevolence; but I
overheard many unquakerlike jokes from others, as to the comfortable
assurance a would-be king must feel of a faithful alliance between his
head and shoulders.
At Trenton, the capital of New Jersey, we left our smoothly-gliding
comfortable boat for the most detestable stage-coach that ever
Christian built to dislocate the joints of his fellow men. Ten of these
torturing machines were crammed full of the passengers who left the
boat with us. The change in our movement was not more remarkable than
that which took place in the tempers and countenances of our
fellow-travellers. Gentlemen who had lounged on sofas, and balanced
themselves in chairs, all the way from Philadelphia, with all the
conscious fascinations of stiff stays and neck-cloths, which, while
doing to death the rash beauties who ventured to gaze, seemed but a
whalebone panoply to guard the wearer, these pretty youths so guarded
from without, so sweetly at peace within, now crushed beneath their
armour, looked more like victims on the wheel, than dandies armed for
conquest; their whalebones seemed to enter into their souls, and every
face grew grim and scowling. The pretty ladies too, with their
expansive bonnets, any one of which might handsomely have filled the
space allotted to three,—how sad the change! I almost fancied they must
have been of the race of Undine, and that it was only when they heard
the splashing of water that they could smile. As I looked into the
altered eyes of my companions, I was tempted to ask, “Look I as cross
as you?” Indeed, I believe that, if possible, I looked crosser still,
for the roads and the vehicle together were quite too much for my
philosophy.
At length, however, we found ourselves alive on board the boat which
was to convey us down the Raraton River to New York.
We fully intended to have gone to bed, to heal our bones, on entering
the steam-boat, but the sight of a table neatly spread determined us to
go to dinner instead. Sin and shame would it have been, indeed, to have
closed our eyes upon the scene which soon opened before us. I have
never seen the bay of Naples, I can therefore make no comparison, but
my imagination is incapable of conceiving any thing of the kind more
beautiful than the harbour of New York. Various and lovely are the
objects which meet the eye on every side, but the naming them would
only be to give a list of words, without conveying the faintest idea of
the scene. I doubt if ever the pencil of Turner could do it justice,
bright and glorious as it rose upon us. We seemed to enter the harbour
of New York upon waves of liquid gold, and as we darted past the green
isles which rise from its bosom, like guardian centinels of the fair
city, the setting sun stretched his horizontal beams farther and
farther at each moment, as if to point out to us some new glory in the
landscape.
New York, indeed, appeared to us, even when we saw it by a soberer
light, a lovely and a noble city. To us who had been so long travelling
through half-cleared forests, and sojourning among an
“I’m-as-good-as-you” population, it seemed, perhaps, more beautiful,
more splendid, and more refined than it might have done, had we arrived
there directly from London; but making every allowance for this, I must
still declare that I think New York one of the finest cities I ever
saw, and as much superior to every other in the Union (Philadelphia not
excepted), as London to Liverpool, or Paris to Rouen. Its advantages of
position are, perhaps, unequalled any where. Situated on an island,
which I think it will one day cover, it rises, like Venice, from the
sea, and like that fairest of cities in the days of her glory, receives
into its lap tribute of all the riches of the earth.
The southern point of Manhatten Island divides the waters of the
harbour into the north and east rivers; on this point stands the city
of New York, extending from river to river, and running northward to
the extent of three or four miles. I think it covers nearly as much
ground as Paris, but is much less thickly peopled. The extreme point is
fortified towards the sea by a battery, and forms an admirable point of
defence; I should suppose, no city could boast. From hence commences
the splendid Broadway, as the fine avenue is called, which runs through
the whole city. This noble street may vie with any I ever saw, for its
length and breadth, its handsome shops, neat awnings, excellent
_trottoir_, and well-dressed pedestrians. It has not the crowded
glitter of Bond Street equipages, nor the gorgeous fronted palaces of
Regent Street; but it is magnificent in its extent, and ornamented by
several handsome buildings, some of them surrounded by grass and trees.
The Park, in which stands the noble city-hall, is a very fine area, I
never found that the most graphic description of a city could give me
any feeling of being there; and even if others have the power, I am
very sure I have not, of setting churches and squares, and long drawn
streets, before the mind’s eye. I will not, therefore, attempt a
detailed description of this great metropolis of the new world, but
will only say that during the seven weeks we stayed there, we always
found something new to see and to admire; and were it not so very far
from all the old-world things which cling about the heart of an
European, I should say that I never saw a city more desirable as a
residence.
The dwelling houses of the higher classes are extremely handsome, and
very richly furnished. Silk or satin furniture is as often, or oftener,
seen than chintz; the mirrors are as handsome as in London; the
cheffoniers, slabs, and marble tables as elegant; and in addition, they
have all the pretty tasteful decoration of French porcelaine, and
or-molu in much greater abundance, because at a much cheaper rate.
Every part of their houses is well carpeted, and the exterior
finishing, such as steps, railings, and door-frames, are very superior.
Almost every house has handsome green blinds on the outside; balconies
are not very general, nor do the houses display, externally, so many
flowers as those of Paris and London; but I saw many rooms decorated
within, exactly like those of an European _petite maitresse_. Little
tables, looking and smelling like flower beds, portfolios, nick-nacks,
bronzes, busts, cameos, and alabaster vases, illustrated copies of
ladylike rhymes bound in silk, and, in short, all the pretty
coxcomalities of the drawing-room scattered about with the same profuse
and studied negligence as with us.
Hudson Square and its neighbourhood is, I believe, the most fashionable
part of the town; the square is beautiful, excellently well planted
with a great variety of trees, and only wanting our frequent and
careful mowing to make it equal to any square in London. The iron
railing which surrounds this enclosure is as high and as handsome as
that of the Tuilleries, and it will give some idea of the care bestowed
on its decoration, to know that the gravel for the walks was conveyed
by barges from Boston, not as ballast, but as freight.
The great defect in the houses is their extreme uniformity when you
have seen one, you have seen all. Neither do I quite like the
arrangement of the rooms. In nearly all the houses the dining and
drawing rooms are on the same floor, with ample folding doors between
them; when thrown together they certainly make a very noble apartment;
but no doors can be barrier sufficient between dining and
drawing-rooms. Mixed dinner parties of ladies and gentlemen, however,
are very rare, which is a great defect in the society; not only as
depriving them of the most social and hospitable manner of meeting, but
as leading to frequent dinner parties of gentlemen without ladies,
which certainly does not conduce to refinement.
The evening parties, excepting such as are expressly for young people,
are chiefly conversational; we were too late in the season for large
parties, but we saw enough to convince us that there is society to be
met with in New York, which would be deemed delightful any where. Cards
are very seldom used; and music, from their having very little
professional aid at their parties is seldom, I believe, as good as what
is heard at private concerts in London.
The Americans have certainly not the same _besoin_ of being amused, as
other people; they may be the wiser for this, perhaps, but it makes
them less agreeable to a looker-on.
There are three theatres at New York, all of which we visited. The Park
Theatre is the only one licensed by fashion, but the Bowery is
infinitely superior in beauty; it is indeed as pretty a theatre as I
ever entered, perfect as to size and proportion, elegantly decorated,
and the scenery and machinery equal to any in London, but it is not the
fashion. The Chatham is so utterly condemned by _bon ton_, that it
requires some courage to decide upon going there; nor do I think my
curiosity would have penetrated so far, had I not seen Miss Mitford’s
Rienzi advertised there. It was the first opportunity I had had of
seeing it played, and spite of very indifferent acting, I was
delighted. The interest must have been great, for till the curtain
fell, I saw not one quarter of the queer things around me: then I
observed in the front row of a dress-box a lady performing the most
maternal office possible; several gentlemen without their coats, and a
general air of contempt for the decencies of life, certainly more than
usually revolting.
At the Park Theatre I again saw the American Roscius, Mr. Forrest. He
played the part of Damon, and roared, I thought, very unlike a
nightingale. I cannot admire this celebrated performer.
Another night we saw Cinderella there; Mrs. Austin was the prima donna,
and much admired. The piece was extremely well got up, and on this
occasion we saw the Park Theatre to advantage, for it was filled with
well-dressed company; but still we saw many “yet unrazored lips”
polluted with the grim tinge of the hateful tobacco, and heard, without
ceasing, the spitting, which of course is its consequence. If their
theatres had the orchestra of the Feydeau, and a choir of angels to
boot, I could find but little pleasure, so long as they were followed
by this running accompaniment of _thorough base_.
Whilst at New York, the prospectus of a fashionable boarding-school was
presented to me. I made some extracts from it, as a specimen of the
enlarged scale of instruction proposed for young females.
Brooklyn Collegiate Institute
for Young Ladies,
Brooklyn Heights, opposite the City of
New York.
JUNIOR DEPARTMENT
Sixth Class
Latin Grammar, Liber Primus; Jacob’s Latin Reader, (first part); Modern
Geography; Intellectual and Practical Arithmetic finished; Dr. Barber’s
Grammar of Elocution; Writing, Spelling, Composition, and Vocal Music.
Fifth Class
Jacob’s Latin Reader, (second part); Roman Antiquities, Sallust;
Clark’s Introduction to the Making of Latin; Ancient and Sacred
Geography; Studies of Poetry; Short Treatise on Rhetoric; Map Drawing,
Composition, Spelling, and Vocal Music.
Fourth Class
Caesar’s Commentaries; first five books of Virgil’s Aeneid; Mythology;
Watts on the Mind; Political Geography, (Woodbridge’s large work);
Natural History; Treatise on the Globes; Ancient History; Studies of
Poetry concluded; English Grammar, Composition, Spelling, and Vocal
Music.
SENIOR DEPARTMENT
Third Class
Virgil, (finished); Cicero’s Select Orations; Modern History; Plane
Geometry; Moral Philosophy; Critical Reading of Young’s Poems;
Perspective Drawing; Rhetoric; Logic, Composition, and Vocal Music.
Second Class
Livy; Horace, (Odes); Natural Theology; small Compend of Ecclesiastical
History; Female Biography; Algebra; Natural Philosophy, (Mechanics,
Hydrostatics, Pneumatics, and Acoustics); Intellectual Philosophy;
Evidences of Christianity; Composition, and Vocal Music.
First Class
Horace, (finished); Tacitus; Natural Philosophy, (Electricity, Optics,
Magnetism, Galvanism); Astronomy, Chemistry, Mineralogy, and Geology;
Compend of Political Economy; Composition, and Vocal Music.
The French, Spanish, Italian, or Greek languages may be attended to, if
required, at any time.
The Exchange is very handsome, and ranks about midway between the heavy
gloom that hangs over our London merchants, and the light and lofty
elegance which decorates the Bourse at Paris. The churches are plain,
but very neat, and kept in perfect repair within and without; but I saw
none which had the least pretension to splendour; the Catholic
Cathedral at Baltimore is the only church in America which has.
At New York, as every where else, they show within, during the time of
service, like beds of tulips, so gay, so bright, so beautiful, are the
long rows of French bonnets and pretty faces; rows but rarely broken by
the unribboned heads of the male population; the proportion is about
the same as I have remarked elsewhere. Excepting at New York, I never
saw the other side of the picture, but there I did. On the opposite
side of the North River, about three miles higher up, is a place called
Hoboken. A gentleman who possessed a handsome mansion and grounds
there, also possessed the right of ferry, and to render this
productive, he has restricted his pleasure grounds to a few beautiful
acres, laying out the remainder simply and tastefully as a public walk.
It is hardly possible to imagine one of greater attraction; a broad
belt of light underwood and flowering shrubs, studded at intervals with
lofty forest trees, runs for two miles along a cliff which overhangs
the matchless Hudson; sometimes it feathers the rocks down to its very
margin, and at others leaves a pebbly shore, just rude enough to break
the gentle waves, and make a music which mimics softly the loud chorus
of the ocean. Through this beautiful little wood, a broad well
gravelled terrace is led by every point which can exhibit the scenery
to advantage; narrower and wilder paths diverge at intervals, some into
the deeper shadow of the wood, and some shelving gradually to the
pretty coves below.
The price of entrance to this little Eden, is the six cents you pay at
the ferry. We went there on a bright Sunday afternoon, expressly to see
the humours of the place. Many thousand persons were scattered through
the grounds; of these we ascertained, by repeatedly counting, that
nineteen-twentieths were men. The ladies were at church. Often as the
subject has pressed upon my mind, I think I never so strongly felt the
conviction that the Sabbath-day, the holy day, the day on which alone
the great majority of the Christian world can spend their hours as they
please, is ill passed (if passed entirely) within brick walls,
listening to an earth-born preacher, charm he never so wisely.
“Oh! how can they renounce the boundless store
Of charms, which Nature to her vot’ries yields!
The warbling woodland, the resounding shore,
The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields,
All that the genial ray of morning gilds,
And all that echoes to the song of even,
All that the mountain’s sheltering bosom yields,
And all the dread magnificence of heaven;
Oh! how can they renounce, and hope to be forgiven!”
How is it that the men of America, who are reckoned good husbands and
good fathers, while they themselves enjoy sufficient freedom of spirit
to permit their walking forth into the temple of the living God, can
leave those they love best on earth, bound in the iron chains of a most
tyrannical fanaticism? How can they breathe the balmy air, and not
think of the tainted atmosphere so heavily weighing upon breasts still
dearer than their own? How can they gaze upon the blossoms of the
spring, and not remember the fairer cheeks of their young daughters,
waxing pale, as they sit for long sultry hours, immured with hundreds
of fellow victims, listening to the roaring vanities of a preacher
canonized by a college of old women? They cannot think it needful to
salvation,or they would not withdraw themselves. Wherefore is it? Do
they fear these self-elected, self-ordained priests, and offer up their
wives and daughters to propitiate them? Or do they deem their
hebdomadal freedom more complete, because their wives and daughters are
shut up four or five times in the day at church or chapel? It is true,
that at Hoboken, as every where else, there are _reposoires_, which, as
you pass them, blast the sense for a moment, by reeking forth the fumes
of whiskey and tobacco, and it may be that these cannot be entered with
a wife or daughter. The proprietor of the grounds, however, has
contrived with great taste to render these abominations not unpleasing
to the eye; there is one in particular, which has quite the air of a
Grecian temple, and did they drink wine instead of whiskey, it might be
inscribed to Bacchus; but in this particular, as in many others, the
ancient and modern Republics differ.
It is impossible not to feel, after passing one Sunday in the churches
and chapels of New York, and the next in the gardens of Hoboken, that
the thousands of well-dressed men you see enjoying themselves at the
latter, have made over the thousands of well-dressed women you saw
exhibited at the former, into the hands of the priests, at least, for
the day. The American people arrogate to themselves a character of
superior morality and religion, but this division of their hours of
leisure does not give me a favourable idea of either.
I visited all the exhibitions in New York. The Medici of the Republic
must exert themselves a little more before these can become even
respectable. The worst of the business is, that with the exception of
about half a dozen individuals, the good citizens are more than
contented, they are delighted.
The newspaper lungs of the Republic breathe forth praise and triumph,
may, almost pant with extacy in speaking of their native _chef
d’oeuvres_. I should be hardly believed were I to relate the instances
which fell in my way, of the utter ignorance respecting pictures to be
found among persons of the _first standing_ in society. Often where a
liberal spirit exists, and a wish to patronise the fine arts is
expressed, it is joined to a profundity of ignorance on the subject
almost inconceivable. A doubt as to the excellence of their artists is
very nervously received, and one gentleman, with much civility, told
me, that at the present era, all the world were aware that competition
was pretty well at an end between our two nations, and that a little
envy might naturally be expected to mix with the surprise with which
the mother country beheld the distance at which her colonies were
leaving her behind them.
I must, however, do the few artists with whom I became acquainted, the
justice to say, that their own pretensions are much more modest than
those of their patrons for them. I have heard several confess and
deplore their ignorance of drawing, and have repeatedly remarked a
sensibility to the merit of European artists, though perhaps only known
by engravings, and a deference to their authority, which showed a
genuine feeling for the art. In fact, I think that there is a very
considerable degree of natural talent for painting in America, but it
has to make its way through darkness and thick night. When an academy
is founded, their first care is to hang the walls of its exhibition
room with all the unutterable trash that is offered to them. No living
models are sought for; no discipline as to the manner of study is
enforced. Boys who know no more of human form, than they do of the
eyes, nose, and mouth in the moon, begin painting portraits. If some of
them would only throw away their palettes for a year, and learn to
draw; if they would attend anatomical lectures, and take notes, not in
words, but in forms, of joints and muscles, their exhibitions would
soon cease to be so utterly below criticism.
The most interesting exhibition open when I was there was, decidedly,
Colonel Trumbold’s; and how the patriots of America can permit this
truly national collection to remain a profitless burden on the hands of
the artist, it is difficult to understand. Many of the sketches are
masterly; but like his illustrious countryman, West, his sketches are
his _chef d’oeuvres_.
I can imagine nothing more perfect than the interior of the public
institutions of New York. There is a practical good sense in all their
arrangements that must strike foreigners very forcibly. The Asylum for
the Destitute offers a hint worth taking. It is dedicated to the
reformation of youthful offenders of both sexes, and it is as admirable
in the details of its management, as in its object. Every part of the
institution is deeply interesting; but there is a difference very
remarkable between the boys and the girls. The boys are, I think, the
finest set of lads I ever saw brought together; bright looking, gay,
active, and full of intelligence. The girls are exactly in reverse;
heavy, listless, indifferent, and melancholy. In conversing with the
gentleman who is the general superintendant of the establishment, I
made the remark to him, and he told me, that the reality corresponded
with the appearance. All of them had been detected in some act of
dishonesty; but the boys, when removed from the evil influence which
had led them so to use their ingenuity, rose like a spring when a
pressure is withdrawn; and feeling themselves once more safe from
danger and from shame, hope and cheerfulness animated every
countenance. But the pour girls, on the contrary, can hardly look up
again. They are as different as an oak and a lily after a storm. The
one, when the fresh breeze blows over it, shakes the raindrops from its
crest, and only looks the brighter; the other, its silken leaves once
soiled, shrinks from the eye, and is levelled to the earth for ever.
We spent a delightful day in New Jersey, in visiting, with a most
agreeable party, the inclined planes, which are used instead of locks
on the Morris canal.
This is a very interesting work; it is one among a thousand which prove
the people of America to be the most enterprising in the world. I was
informed that this important canal, which connects the waters of the
Hudson and the Delaware, is a hundred miles long, and in this distance
overcomes a variation of level amounting to sixteen hundred feet. Of
this, fourteen hundred are achieved by inclined planes. The planes
average about sixty feet of perpendicular lift each, and are to support
about forty tons. The time consumed in passing them is twelve minutes
for one hundred feet of perpendicular rise. The expense is less than a
third of what locks would be for surmounting the same rise. If we set
about any more canals, this may be worth attending to.
This Morris canal is certainly an extraordinary work; it not only
varies its level sixteen hundred feet, but at one point runs along the
side of a mountain at thirty feet above the tops of the highest
buildings in the town of Paterson, below; at another it crosses the
falls of the Passaic in a stone aqueduct sixty feet above the water in
the river. This noble work, in a great degree, owes its existence to
the patriotic and scientific energy of Mr. Cadwallader Colden.
There is no point in the national character of the Americans which
commands so much respect as the boldness and energy with which public
works are undertaken and carried through. Nothing stops them if a
profitable result can be fairly hoped for. It is this which has made
cities spring up amidst the forests with such inconceivable rapidity;
and could they once be thoroughly persuaded that any point of the ocean
had a hoard of dollars beneath it, I have not the slightest doubt that
in about eighteen months we should see a snug covered rail-road leading
direct to the spot.
I was told at New York, that in many parts of the state it was usual to
pay the service of the Presbyterian ministers in the following manner.
Once a year a day is fixed, on which some member of every family in a
congregation meet at their minister’s house in the afternoon. They each
bring an offering (according to their means) of articles necessary for
housekeeping. The poorer members leave their contributions in a large
basket, placed for the purpose, close to the door of entrance. Those of
more importance, and more calculated to do honour to the piety of the
donors, are carried into the room where the company is assembled.
Sugar, coffee, tea, cheese, barrels of flour, pieces of Irish linen,
sets of china and of glass, were among the articles mentioned to me as
usually making parts of these offerings. After the party is assembled,
and the business of giving and receiving is dispatched, tea, coffee,
and cakes are handed round; but these are not furnished at any expense
either of trouble or money to the minster, for selected ladies of the
congregation take the whole arrangement upon themselves. These meetings
are called spinning visits.
Another New York custom, which does not seem to have so reasonable a
cause, is the changing house once a year. On the 1st of May the city of
New York has the appearance of sending off a population flying from the
plague, or of a town which had surrendered on condition of carrying
away all their goods and chattels. Rich furniture and ragged furniture,
carts, waggons, and drays, ropes, canvas, and straw, packers, porters,
and draymen, white, yellow, and black, occupy the streets from east to
west, from north to south, on this day. Every one I spoke to on the
subject complained of this custom as most annoying, but all assured me
it was unavoidable, if you inhabit a rented house. More than one of my
New York friends have built or bought houses solely to avoid this
annual inconvenience.
There are a great number of negroes in New York, all free; their
emancipation having been completed in 1827. Not even in Philadelphia,
where the anti-slavery opinions have been the most active and violent,
do the blacks appear to wear an air of so much consequence as they do
at New York. They have several chapels, in which negro ministers
officiate; and a theatre in which none but negroes perform. At this
theatre a gallery is appropriated to such whites as choose to visit it;
and here only are they permitted to sit; following in this, with nice
etiquette, and equal justice, the arrangement of the white theatres, in
all of which is a gallery appropriated solely to the use of the blacks.
I have often, particularly on a Sunday, met groups of negroes,
elegantly dressed; and have been sometimes amused by observing the very
superior air of gallantry assumed by the men, when in attendance on
their _belles_, to that of the whites in similar circumstances. On one
occasion we met in Broadway a young negress in the extreme of the
fashion, and accompanied by a black beau, whose toilet was equally
studied; eye-glass, guard-chain, nothing was omitted; he walked beside
his sable goddess uncovered, and with an air of the most tender
devotion. At the window of a handsome house which they were passing,
stood a very pretty white girl, with two gentlemen beside her; but
alas! both of them had their hats on, and one was smoking!
If it were not for the peculiar manner of walking, which distinguishes
all American women, Broadway might be taken for a French street, where
it was the fashion for very smart ladies to promenade. The dress is
entirely French; not an article (except perhaps the cotton stockings)
must be English, on pain of being stigmatized as out of the fashion.
Every thing English is decidedly _mauvais ton_; English materials,
English fashions, English accent, English manner, are all terms of
reproach; and to say that an unfortunate looks like an English woman,
is the cruellest satire which can be uttered.
I remember visiting France almost immediately after we had made the
most offensive invasion of her territory that can well be imagined,
yet, despite the feelings which lengthened years of war must have
engendered, it was the fashion to admire every thing English. I suppose
family quarrels are most difficult to adjust; for fifteen years of
peace have not been enough to calm the angry feelings of brother
Jonathan towards the land of his fathers,
“The which he hateth passing well.”
It is hardly needful to say the most courteous amenity of manner
distinguishes the reception given to foreigners by the patrician class
of Americans.
_Gentlemen_, in the old world sense of the term, are the same every
where; and an American gentleman and his family know how to do the
honours of their country to strangers of every nation, as well as any
people on earth. But this class, though it decidedly exists, is a very
small one, and cannot, in justice, be represented as affording a
specimen of the whole.
Most of the houses in New York are painted on the outside, but in a
manner carefully to avoid disfiguring the material which it preserves:
on the contrary, nothing can be neater. They are now using a great deal
of a beautiful stone called Jersey freestone; it is of a warm rich
brown, and extremely ornamental to the city wherever it has been
employed. They have also a grey granite of great beauty. The trottoir
paving, in most of the streets, is extremely good, being of large flag
stones, very superior to the bricks of Philadelphia.
At night the shops, which are open till very late, are brilliantly
illuminated with gas, and all the population seem as much alive as in
London or Paris. This makes the solemn stillness of the evening hours
in Philadelphia still more remarkable.
There are a few trees in different parts of the city, and I observed
young ones planted, and guarded with much care; were they more abundant
it would be extremely agreeable, for the reflected light of their
fierce summer sheds intolerable day.
Ice is in profuse abundance; I do not imagine that there is a house in
the city without the luxury of a piece of ice to cool the water, and
harden the butter.
The hackney coaches are the best in the world, but abominably dear, and
it is necessary to be on the _qui vive_ in making your bargain with the
driver; if you do not, he has the power of charging immoderately. On my
first experiment I neglected this, and was asked two dollars and a half
for an excursion of twenty minutes. When I referred to the waiter of
the hotel, he asked if I had made a bargain. “No.” “Then I expect”
(with the usual look of triumph) “that the Yankee has been too smart
for you.”
The private carriages of New York are infinitely handsomer and better
appointed than any I saw elsewhere; the want of smart liveries destroys
much of the gay effect, but, on the whole, a New York summer equipage,
with the pretty women and beautiful children it contains, look
extremely well in Broadway, and would not be much amiss anywhere.
The luxury of the New York aristocracy is not confined to the city;
hardly an acre of Manhatten Island but shows some pretty villa or
stately mansion. The most chosen of these are on the north and east
rivers, to whose margins their lawns descend. Among these, perhaps, the
loveliest is one situated in the beautiful village of Bloomingdale;
here, within the space of sixteen acres, almost every variety of garden
scenery may be found. To describe all its diversity of hill and dale,
of wood and lawn, of rock and river, would be in vain; nor can I convey
an idea of it by comparison, for I never saw anything like it. How far
the elegant hospitality which reigns there may influence my impression,
I know not; but, assuredly, no spot I have ever seen dwells more
freshly on my memory, nor did I ever find myself in a circle more
calculated to give delight in meeting, and regret at parting, than that
of Woodlawn.