Among the many incongruities of that composite piece of architecture,
called John Bull, there is nothing more striking than the contrast
between his thorough nationality and his unbounded admiration for
foreigners. Now, although we may not entirely sympathize with, we can
understand and appreciate this feature of his character, and see how
he gratifies his very pride itself, in the attentions and civilities
he bestows upon strangers. The feeling is intelligible too, because
Frenchmen, Germans, and even Italians, notwithstanding the many points
of disparity between us, have always certain qualities well worthy of
respect, if not of imitation. France has a great literature, a name
glorious in history, a people abounding in intelligence, skill, and
invention; in fact, all the attributes that make up a great nation.
Germany has many of these, and though she lack the brilliant fancy, the
sparkling wit of her neighbour, has still a compensating fund in
the rich resources of her judgment, and the profound depths of her
scholarship. Indeed, every continental country has its lesson for
our benefit, and we would do well to cultivate the acquaintance of
strangers, not only to disseminate more just views of ourselves and our
institutions, but also for the adoption of such customs as seem worthy
of imitation, and such habits as may suit our condition in life;
while such is the case as regards those countries high in the scale
of civilisation, we would, by no means, extend the rule to others less
happily constituted, less benignly gifted. The Carinthian boor with his
garment of sheep-wool, or the Laplander with his snow shoes and his hood
of deerskin, may be both very natural objects of curiosity, but by no
means subjects of imitation. This point will doubtless be conceded at
once; and now, will any one tell me for what cause, under what pretence,
and with what pretext are we civil to the Yankees?--not for their
politeness, not for their literature, not for any fascination of
their manner, nor any charm of their address, not for any historic
association, not for any halo that the glorious past has thrown around
the commonplace monotony of the present, still less for any romantic
curiosity as to their lives and habits--for in this respect all other
savage nations far surpass them. What then is, or what can be the cause?
Of all the lions that caprice and the whimsical absurdity of a
second-rate set in fashion ever courted and entertained, never had any
one less pretensions to the civility he received than the author of
'Pencillings by the Way'--poor in thought, still poorer in expression,
without a spark of wit, without a gleam of imagination--a fourth-rate
looking man, and a fifth-rate talker, he continued to receive the homage
we were wont to bestow upon a Scott, and even charily extended to
a Dickens. His writings the very slip-slop of “commerage,” the
tittle-tattle of a Sunday paper, dressed up in the cant of Kentucky;
the very titles, the contemptible affectation of unredeemed twaddle,
'Pencillings by the Way!' 'Letters from under a Bridge!' Good lack! how
the latter name is suggestive of eaves-dropping and listening; and how
involuntarily we call to mind those chance expressions of his partners
in the dance, or his companions at the table, faithfully recorded for
the edification of the free-born Americans, who, while they ridicule our
institutions, endeavour to pantomime our manners.
For many years past a number of persons have driven a thriving trade in
a singular branch of commerce, no less than buying up cast court dresses
and second-hand uniforms for exportation to the colonies. The negroes,
it is said, are far prouder of figuring in the tattered and tarnished
fragments of former greatness, than of wearing the less gaudy, but
more useful garb, befitting their condition. So it would seem our
trans-Atlantic friends prefer importing through their agents, for that
purpose, the abandoned finery of courtly gossip, to the more useful but
less pretentious apparel, of commonplace information. Mr. Willis was
invaluable for this purpose; he told his friends every thing that he
heard, and he heard every thing that he could; and, like mercy, he
enjoyed a duplicate of blessings--for while he was delighted in by his
own countrymen, he was dined by ours. He scattered his autographs,
as Feargus O'Connor did franks; he smiled; he ogled; he read his own
poetry, and went the whole lion with all his might; and yet, in the
midst of this, a rival starts up equally desirous of court secrets,
and fifty times as enterprising in their search; he risks his liberty,
perhaps his life, in the pursuit, and what is his reward? I need only
tell you his name, and you are answered--I mean the boy Jones; not under
a bridge, but under a sofa; not in Almacks, obtaining it at second-hand,
but in Buckingham Palace--into the very apartment of the Queen--the
adventurous youth has dared to insinuate himself. No lady however sends
her album to him for some memento of his genius. His temple is not
defrauded of its curls to grace a locket or a medallion; and his reward,
instead of a supper at Lady Blessington's, is a voyage to Swan River.
For my part, I prefer the boy Jones: I like his singleness of purpose: I
admire his steady perseverance; still, however, he had the misfortune to
be born in England--his father lived near Wapping, and he was ineligible
for a lion: To what other reason than his English growth can be
attributed the different treatment he has experienced at the hands of
the world. The similarity between the two characters is most striking.
Willis had a craving appetite for court gossip, and the tittle-tattle of
a palace: so had the boy Jones. Willis established himself as a listener
in society: so did the boy Jones. Willis obtruded himself into places,
and among people where he had no possible pretension to be seen: so did
the boy Jones. Willis wrote letters from under a bridge: the boy Jones
eat mutton chops under a sofa.