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NEW BOOKS.

_Carey, Lea & Blanchard have lately published_,


GLEANINGS IN EUROPE—FRANCE.

By the author of the Spy, &c. in 2 vols. 12mo.

  Extremely amusing, light and piquant, and abounding in
  anecdotes.—London Sun.

  Characteristic and entertaining volumes, containing much
  amusing anecdotes, and well executed sketches of society in
  Paris.—Morning Post.

  As a man of talents, of sound and judicious observation,
  this work will add largely to the reputation of the great
  American Novelist. It is truth, in its way a masterly
  performance.—Scotsman.


EXCURSIONS ON THE RHINE, IN SWITZERLAND, &c.

By the author of the Spy, in 2 vols. 12mo.

  “Knowing by delightful experience the great descriptive powers of
  the author of ‘Excursions,’ we may safely conclude that whoever
  peruses them will do so with an additional satisfaction when he
  reflects that they are described by the same pen which has drawn
  such animated portraits of men and of nature before. This work is
  indeed a most lively narrative of travels.”—Times.


SKETCHES OF SWITZERLAND.

PART FIRST, by the same author, in 2 vols. 12mo.

  “The author of ‘The Spy,’ not content with the fame already
  acquired in the field of literature, has here made another
  effort to impart some valuable thoughts to the gratification
  of his friends and the public. The two volumes before us are
  a compilation of letters written from France to the author’s
  personal friends in America, but these letters will not be less
  acceptable because written as private epistles, inasmuch as they
  contain much of that peculiar character which instructs while it
  amuses. Mr. Cooper’s testimony in relation to the then existing
  state of society in France, may be considered as honest; whilst
  in relation to the more weighty matters which fell under his
  observation, he appears to have acted upon that most excellent
  appeal of Othello, ‘nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in
  malice’”—_American Citizen._

  “Whatever Mr. Cooper undertakes to describe, he does it with
  the hand of a master, and a single chapter of description from
  his vigorous pen, conveys more distinct ideas of the things
  and persons of whom he writes, than all the volumes of First
  Impressions which have ever been published. His views of society
  are also such as may be studied with advantage; and it is to be
  hoped that the results of his experience will not be entirely
  lost on his fellow citizens.”—_Saturday News._


New Work, by Washington Irving.

THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS; OR, SCENES, INCIDENTS AND ADVENTURES IN THE FAR
WEST.—Digested from the Journal of Captain B. L. E. Bonneville, of
the U.S., and illustrated from various other sources, by Washington
Irving, author of Astoria &c. &c. in 2 vols. 12mo. with Maps.


LADY MONTAGUE’S LETTERS AND WORKS.

In two handsome volumes.

The correspondence of Lady Mary Wortley Montague with the Countess
of Pomfret, the Countess of Bute, the Countess of Mar, Lady Rich,
the Countess of Bristol, Mr. Wortley, Sir James Stewart of Colkness,
&c., including upwards of one hundred and fifty Letters, hitherto
unpublished: a memoir of the Court of George 1st, by Lady Mary
Wortley Montague: a sketch of the state of parties by Mr. Wortley,
and a life of the authoress: the whole work illustrated with
anecdotes and explanatory notes. Edited by Lord Wharncliffe, her
great-grandson.

In this edition the names formerly given only in initials and the
suppressed passages are restored, from the original MSS. in the
possession of Lord Wharncliffe.

  “Beautiful, classical and interesting are the letters and works
  of Lady Mary Wortley Montague. Long as the English language shall
  hold a place amongst the nations of the earth—just so long will
  those eloquent letters be considered amongst the standards of its
  purity and excellence. We would ask—where, either in ancient or
  modern times, have a series of letters, extending through many
  years, been published, that contain so elegant a commixture of
  the _utile et dulce_—the instructive and the entertaining.”

  The entire work is edited by her ladyship’s great-grandson,
  Lord Wharncliffe, who has added a large quantity of additional
  correspondence from the family papers, and anecdotes which his
  lordship obtained from the Marquis of Bute and Lord Dudley Stuart.

  All who desire to acquire an elegant and fluent style, with a
  lively and agreeable diction, should read the writings of Lady
  Mary Wortley Montague.—_Penn. Inquirer._


TUCKER’S JEFFERSON.

The Life of Thomas Jefferson, third President of the United States,
with parts of his correspondence, never before published, and
notices of his opinions on questions of Civil Government, National
Policy, and Constitutional Law, by George Tucker, Professor of Moral
Philosophy in the University of Virginia, with an engraved bust, in
two volumes.

  “The style of the work is altogether historical, and in its
  method and manner is alike deserving of praise. So many points
  of interest, however, arise to our mind in speaking of the work,
  and which it would be impossible to discuss in a newspaper, that
  we must dismiss it with the general commendation, that it is
  one which every political party will derive equal interest and
  instruction in perusing.”

  “The work is written throughout with candour and temperance of
  feeling. In the difficult necessity of pursuing an even and
  continuous thread of narrative amid the innumerable distracting
  influences of public and private questions, with which his
  subject is necessarily connected, and usually so fatal to the
  biographer of a public character—Professor Tucker has been
  singularly successful, diverging just enough to exhibit the cause
  and its effect in juxtaposition, and never enlarging into a
  needless prolixity of detail.”—_Metropolitan._

  “From an author of such capacity, possessed of so many valuable
  sources of information, the public may reasonably expect a
  full and perfect history of the political and private life of
  Thomas Jefferson—friendly to his reputation and character of
  course—but as impartial as the imperfection of human nature will
  permit.”—_Baltimore Gazette._




                         GLEANINGS IN EUROPE.

                               ENGLAND:

                                  BY

                             AN AMERICAN.

                           IN TWO VOLUMES.

                               VOL. II.

                           _PHILADELPHIA_:
                      CAREY, LEA, AND BLANCHARD.
                                1837.




       Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1837,

                    BY CAREY, LEA, AND BLANCHARD,

  In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the Eastern District
                           of Pennsylvania.


  HASWELL, BARRINGTON, AND HASWELL, PRINTERS.




CONTENTS

                                                                 Page
  LETTER XV. TO RICHARD COOPER, ESQ., COOPERSTOWN, N. Y.           13
  LETTER XVI. TO RICHARD COOPER, ESQ., COOPERSTOWN, N. Y.          26
  LETTER XVII. TO MRS. COMSTOCK, COMSTOCK, MICHIGAN.               40
  LETTER XVIII. TO RICHARD COOPER, ESQ., COOPERSTOWN, N. Y.        62
  LETTER XIX. TO WILLIAM JAY, ESQUIRE.                             78
  LETTER XX. TO JAMES STEVENSON, ESQ., ALBANY, N. Y.              104
  LETTER XXI. TO RICHARD COOPER, ESQUIRE, COOPERSTOWN.            117
  LETTER XXII. TO JACOB SUTHERLAND, ESQUIRE.                      129
  LETTER XXIII. HENRY FLOYD-JONES, ESQ., FORT NECK.               162
  LETTER XXIV. TO R. COOPER, ESQ., COOPERSTOWN, N. Y.             179
  LETTER XXV. J. E. DE KAY, ESQUIRE, NEW YORK.                    189
  LETTER XXVI. TO JAMES STEVENSON, ESQ., ALBANY, N. Y.            205
  LETTER XXVII. TO JACOB SUTHERLAND, ESQ., GENEVA.                220
  LETTER XXVIII. TO RICHARD COOPER, ESQUIRE, COOPERSTOWN,
                 NEW YORK.                                        236
  LETTER XXIX. TO CAPTAIN B. COOPER, U. S. NAVY.                  255




ENGLAND.




LETTER XV.

TO RICHARD COOPER, ESQ., COOPERSTOWN, N. Y.


The last month has been one of severe duty with the knife and fork.
Through the hospitality and kindness of Mr. Rogers I have dined no
less than three times with him alone.

On the first occasion our party consisted of lords Lansdowne, Grey,
and Gower,[1] Sir Thomas Lawrence, Mr. Luttrell, and myself. I have
little to tell you of this dinner, which was like any other. I
thought some of the company stood too much in awe of the great man,
though I did not see why, for there is no one here with whom I feel
less restraint, myself, than with Lord Grey. Of course one defers
naturally to a man of his years and reputation, but beyond this, I
found nothing to check conversation.

The painter is a handsome, well-behaved man, though he was not at
his ease. In the course of the evening he inquired if I knew Gilbert
Stewart. He had a slight acquaintance with him, and wished to
know if “he were not a very facetious gentleman.” I was of opinion
that Stewart invented to amuse his sitters. This, Sir Thomas then
observed, explained a report he had heard, according to which, Mr.
Stewart had claimed him as one of his pupils; an honour I thought he
rather pointedly disavowed. Our artist does not appear to be much
known here. It is the fashion to decry Mr. West now, quite as much as
it was to overrate him while the island, by the war, was hermetically
sealed against continental art. We constantly run into the extreme of
over-estimating the celebrity of our own people in this part of the
world. So far as my experience goes, Washington and Franklin are the
only two Americans who enjoy thoroughly European reputations. I mean
by this, that were their names mentioned in a drawing-room, every
one would know who they were, their peculiar merits, and the leading
points in their histories. Jefferson would, I think, come next;
after which, the knowledge of individuals would be confined chiefly
to the respective professions. There are men who live by writing
for the periodicals, and such is the craving for novelty, that they
lay heaven and earth under contribution for subjects. In this way,
an article occasionally appears that treats of American things and
American names, and, in the simplicity of our hearts, we fancy the
world is meditating on our growing greatness, when in fact, the
periodicals themselves scarcely attract attention. Indeed, one of
the things that has struck me favourably here, is the practice which
people have of doing their own thinking. Puffs and advertisements
may help a work off, but they do not, as with us, bestow reputation.
Nothing is more common than to hear opinions of books and pictures,
but I do not remember ever to have heard a remark concerning the
notions of the reviewers. Reviews may control the inferior classes,
but they have little or no effect on the higher. Intelligence,
breeding, tone, taste, and manners, rally in such masses in these
huge capitals, that they not only make head against the inroads of
vulgarity and ignorance, but they even send forth a halo that sheds a
little light out of their own proper sphere; whereas, with us, like
treasures exposed to invasion, they are in constant risk from an
incursion of the barbarians, who sometimes fairly get them in their
clutches.

Mr. Alston is less known than I had supposed, though where known
he seems to be appreciated. I should say Mr. Leslie is more in
possession of the public, here, than any other American artist,
though scarcely known out of England, for a painting has not
ubiquity, like a book. Mr. Newton’s reputation is limited. We boast
too much of these gentlemen; not on account of their merits, for
each has great merits in his way; but because I think neither is
particularly anxious to meet our prurient attachment. Mr. Leslie is a
mild man, and cares little, apparently, for any thing but his tastes
and his affections; the latter of which do not turn exclusively
to America. He was born in London, and has told me that his first
recollections are of England. Mr. Newton has quite pointedly given
me to understand that he too was born a British subject, and that he
thinks himself an Englishman. If any man is excusable for deserting
his country, it is the American artist. His studies require it,
even, and there is little to gratify his tastes at home. As respects
these two gentlemen, the accidents of birth are in unison with the
accidents of their profession, and it really seems to me we should
show more self-respect by permitting them to choose their own
national characters.

At the second dinner we had ladies; the sister of the poet presiding.
We were kept waiting a good while for two or three gentlemen who
were in the House of Lords, where it seems an interesting debate
occurred on a party question, but we sate down without them. We had
at table, Mr. Thomas Grenville; a Lord Ashburnham, who, when asked
the question, confessed he had not been in the House, except to take
the oaths, in seventeen years; and Lady Aberdeen, the wife of the
minister. Lady —— was also of our party. The absentees left large
gaps at the board, and our dinner was _tant soit peut_ dull.

In the course of the evening, Mr. Grenville related a very amusing
anecdote of Scott. They dined in company with the Princess of Wales,
while she was in her equivocal exile at Blackheath. After dinner, the
party was grouped around the chair of the Princess, when the latter
said abruptly, “They tell me, Mr. Scott, you relate the prettiest
Scotch stories in the world; do have the goodness to relate me one.”
This was making a little of a mountebank of the great bard to be
sure, but his deference for royal rank was so great that he merely
bowed, and said “yes, madam,” and began—“In the reign of king such a
one, there lived in the highlands of Scotland, such a Laird,” going
on with his legend, as if he were reading it from a book. The story
was short, neatly told, and produced a good effect. “Dear me! Mr.
Scott, what a clever story!” exclaimed the Princess, who, if all they
say about lineage and blood be true, must have been a changeling,
“pray, be so obliging as to tell me another.” “Yes, madam!” said
Scott, and without a moment’s hesitation he went on with another, as
a school-boy would go through with his task!

Mr. Grenville asked me if John Jay was still alive. On hearing that
he was, he spoke of him in high terms, as a man of abilities and
sterling integrity. I should say Mr. Jay has left a better name in
England, than any diplomatic man we ever had here. In general, I
think the disposition is to “damn us with faint praise;” but the
respect of Mr. Grenville seemed sincere and cordial. Dr. Franklin is
not a favourite in London; more than one of the prominent men among
the English statesmen speaking of him, in my presence, in any thing
but terms of admiration.

It is not a safe rule to take the opinion of England concerning any
American in public life, for it is very often “_tant mieux, tant
pis_” with them, but there is a sturdy honesty in the better part of
this nation that gives a value to their judgments in all matters of
personal integrity and fair standing.

After dinner, our peers came in full of their debate, and as merry as
boys. Lord Holland was one of them, and he was quite animated with
what had passed. It seems my bishop had made a speech, which they
pronounced rather illogical.

Sir Walter Scott soon after joined us. Although so complaisant to a
princess, he showed he had stuff in him, to-night. There was a woman
of quality present, who is a little apt to be _exigeante_, and who,
I dare say, on a favourable occasion, might ask for three stories.
No sooner did the great poet appear in the door, than, although in a
remote part of the room, she addressed him in a decided voice, asking
him how he did, and expressing _her_ delight at seeing him. The old
man took it all like Ben-Nevis, walking up coolly to Miss Rogers
and paying his respects, (a tribute to good manners that scarcely
silenced the other) before he made the least reply. This was done
with the steadiness, quiet, and tact of Lafayette, certainly one of
the best bred men of the age. Scott seems much more at his ease in
London than he did in Paris, where the romance and the _empressement_
of the women had the effect to embarrass him a little.

The third of Mr. Rogers’s dinners was given expressly to Sir Walter
Scott, I believe. We had at table, Sir Walter himself, Mr. Lockhart,
Mrs. Lockhart, and Miss Anne Scott; Mr. Chantrey, Lord John Russell,
and Mr. Sharp, a gentleman who is called “Conversation Sharp,” Sir
James Macintosh, and a Mr. Jekyll, who, I was told, from his intimacy
with George the Fourth and his wit, has obtained the name of the
“king’s jester.” Mr. Leslie came in before we left the table, and in
the drawing-room we had Mrs. Siddons and several more ladies.

There is something too gladiatorial about such dinners, to render
them easy or entertaining. As a homage to Scott it was well enough,
but it wanted the _abandon_ necessary to true enjoyment. No one
talked freely, even Mr. Sharp, who has obtained so much reputation
for ability in that way, making one or two ineffectual rallies to
set us in motion. I have met this gentleman frequently, and, though
a sensible and an amiable man, I have been a good deal at a loss to
imagine how he got his appellation. In comparison with that of Sir
James Macintosh his conversation is gossip. I do not mean by this,
however, that Mr. Sharp indulges in trivial subjects, but it strikes
me, he has neither reach of mind, information, originality, wit, nor
command of language, to give him reputation in a town like London,
and yet he is every where called “Conversation Sharp.” In short, if I
had not been told that such was his _sobriquet_, I should have said
he was a sensible, amiable, well-read person, of social habits, and
who talked neither particularly well, nor yet so ill as to attract
attention, and just about as much as a man of his age ought to talk.
He seems rather more disposed than usual, to break the stiff silence
that sometimes renders an English party awkward, and may have become
distinguished in that way, for the man who will put Englishmen at
ease in company, meaning Englishmen of a certain class, merits an
illustration. Before this dinner, however, I have never observed so
much of this social awe, in the better company, here. A caste or
two lower in the scale, it becomes characteristic of the national
manners, always excluding, of course, those who are so low as to be
natural. I think the _people_ of England are more hearty, cordial,
and free in their modes of intercourse, than the people of America,
though certainly less _parochial_; the application of which term I
shall leave you to discover for yourself.

Mr. Jekyll has a reputation for chaste wit. To-day he was not
distinguished in this respect, though I observed that the company
occasionally smiled at his remarks, as if they associated cleverness
with his conversation. In this particular, I question if there is a
man in London, above the level of story-tellers and jokers, who is
the equal of Mr. W——.

It strikes me the English are drilled into a formality that throws a
cloud over their social intercourse. As a people they are not fluent,
and the itching desire to catch the tone of the highest class has
probably a bad effect; for a man may be a peer, or a great commoner,
without being much gifted with intellect. It is true, that Englishmen
of this class are generally respectable, but mere respectability of
mind will not suffice for great models, and when a body of merely
respectable men impart a tone to others, which originates in their
own incapacity, it has the effect to restrain talents. Individuals
like Sir James Macintosh and Mr. Coleridge overcome this by the force
of their impulses, and the consciousness of power, but thousands
of men, highly, though less gifted than they, are curbed by the
established forms. This is but speculation, after all, and quite
likely it is valueless.

I have told you Mrs. Siddons and several other ladies joined us in
the evening. Mr. Rogers presented me to the former, but her reception
was cold and distant. Drawn out, as I had been, especially for this
introduction, I could not withdraw abruptly without saying something,
and I remarked that our papers, perhaps idly, had been flattering the
Americans that she was about to visit the country. She answered that
if she were twenty years younger, she might be glad to do so, but her
age now put such a thing quite out of the question. Her air was too
much on stilts, I thought, and, though I dare say, it is her natural
manner, it reminded me unpleasantly of the heroine. Her voice seemed
pitched to the stately keys of a tragic queen, and her enunciation
was slightly pedantic. I should say for the drawing-room, her tone,
as relates to these peculiarities, was decidedly professional and
bad. I may tell you many things of this nature that will be opposed
to your previous impressions, but the sources of information, whence
the portraits of the periodical literature of the day are drawn,
are to be distrusted. There is one distinguished English writer in
particular, of whom it is the fashion to celebrate, in constant
eulogies, the grace and deportment, who, I shall say, is one of the
very worst-mannered persons I have ever met in cultivated society.
Flattery and malice, sustained, as both are, by the credulity and
compliance of mankind, make sad work with the truth.[2]

Mr. Lockhart did me the favour to present me to his wife, who is a
daughter of Sir Walter Scott. She is eminently what the French call
_gracieuse_, and just the woman to have success at Paris, by her
sweet simple manners, sustained by the great name of her father.
I thought her quick of intellect and reflective of humour. Scott
himself was silent and quiet the whole day, though he had a good
stately chat with Mrs. Siddons, who _dialogued_ with him, in a very
Shaksperian manner.

The next day, in the morning, I had a visit from Sir Walter, to
apologise for not keeping an engagement he had made to go with Mr.
Rogers and myself to Hampton Court, where his son Major Scott is
just now quartered. In the conversation in which this engagement was
made, I happened to mention something connected with my consulate,
when Sir Walter inquired, with a little interest if I were the consul
of America at Lyons. I told him I was so in commission and name,
though I had never been in the place. “Ah!” observed Mr. Rogers, with
a pithy manner he knows how to assume—“it is a _job_.” To this I
answered, it was a bad job, then, as it returned neither honour nor
profit. Sir Walter had listened attentively to this trifling, and
he now came to speak further on the subject, as well as to make his
apologies.

The late Lady Scott was the daughter of a native of Lyons it seems,
her maiden name having been Charpentier, or _Anglice_, Carpenter.
Some person of the family, as I understood Sir Walter, had gone to
the East Indies, where he had accumulated a considerable fortune,
and it now became important to his children to establish the
affinity, in order to do which, the first step was to get extracts
from the local registers, of the birth of M. Charpentier. He brought
with him a note of what he required, and I promised to send it to
the consular agent, immediately, for investigation. In this note he
described M. Charpentier as a _maître d’armes_, or fencing master, a
sort of occupation that would just suit his own notions of chivalry.

The excuse for postponing the party to Hampton Court, was a summons
from the king to dine at Windsor, a command of this sort superseding
all other engagements. He kindly begged me to name another day for
the excursion, but, between bad health and business, it was not
in my power to do so. Your aunt, too, who was completely excluded
from society by her mourning, and who was now in London for the
first time, had too just a claim on my time, to be set aside for
other persons. She wished to go to Windsor and Richmond, and into
Hertfordshire, and these considerations compelled me to forego the
rare pleasure of making a third in a party composed of Walter Scott
and Samuel Rogers.

I have just missed seeing Mr. Wadsworth too, in consequence of ill
health. He dined with Mr. Rogers, and I was asked to meet him, but
my old enemy the headache and a severe nervous attack, obliged me to
send excuses, though I put them off as long as I could, and drank
hot tea all the morning to get myself in trim. Mr. Rogers sent to
press me to join them in the evening, but I was then in bed. As
country air will now be useful, we have determined to go to Windsor
at once.




LETTER XVI.

TO RICHARD COOPER, ESQ., COOPERSTOWN, N. Y.


Whatever may be said of the beauty of the country in England, in
particular parts, it scarcely merits its reputation as a whole. I
have seen no portion of it that is positively ugly, a heath or two
excepted, and yet I have seen more that is below mediocrity, than
above it. I am told, however, I have not seen its finest portions.
There is certainly little to admire, in the way of landscape,
immediately in the vicinity of London, so far as I have become
acquainted with its environs, and we have now entered and left the
town in nearly every direction.

Taking our own village as a centre, and describing a circle, with
a radius of fifty miles, I greatly question if all England could
supply the same field of natural beauty. Our landscapes have much
the effect of English park scenery, too, aided by the isolated and
graceful woods that belong to every farm, and the negligent accidents
of clearing, of which the celebrated art of landscape gardening is
merely an imitation. But this country has a great advantage, both
in its higher finish and in its numerous and interesting artificial
accessories. It is only when viewed at the distance of a mile or two,
that the scenery of our country, for instance, has the park-like
character at all; the foreground of the picture commonly wanting the
necessary polish. Still I can recall a portion of the road between
Cooperstown and Utica, that comes almost up to the level of what
would be thought fine rural scenery even in England, surpassing it in
outline and foliage, and perhaps falling as much short of it, by the
want of country houses and picturesque dwellings, bridges, churches,
and other similar objects. I mention these places, because they are
familiar to you, and not because the country has no more; for I
think it may be taken as a rule, that the frequency and negligent
appearance of our woods, bring the American landscapes, seen in the
distance, much nearer to the level of the English, than is commonly
believed.

There is a limit, which associates with the ordinary English rural
scene, the idea of comfort and snugness, that is in marked contrast
to the naked, comfortless aspect of the broad, unrelieved fields
of France. This feature makes the great distinction between the
landscapes of the two countries. The nature of the continent appears
to have been cast in a larger mould than that of this island, and
when, to this circumstance, you add the fact of the enclosures by
means of hedges, on the one side, and their total absence on the
other, you may form a tolerable idea of the different characters of
the scenery of the two countries.

I am led out of London, and tempted to these remarks, in consequence
of our having profited by the fine weather, to make several
excursions into the country, after all of which I am half inclined
to say that the town itself, possesses in its very bosom, finer
rural beauties than are to be met any where in its neighbourhood. I
have great pleasure, as the season advances, in studying the varying
aspects of the parks, which, at moments, present singularly beautiful
glimpses. The _chiaroscuro_ of these pictures is not remarkable, it
is true; the darks predominating rather too much. This is a bold
criticism, considering that nature is the artist; but what I mean is,
that the play of light and shade is not as sweet or as soft, as in
milder climates. Still it is more poetical than that of a fierce sun,
unrelieved by vapour.

The groupings in the parks contribute largely to their beauty. The
mixture of cows and of deer grazing, with children at their sports,
horsemen dashing across the view, and stately coaches rolling along
the even and winding roads, add the charm of a moving panorama, to
the beauties of verdure, trees, flowers, paths, and water. I do not,
now, allude to the Sunday exhibitions; for they are cockney, and
rather mar the scene; but to the more regular life of the week. You
can hardly imagine the beauty of two or three scarlet coats, passing
athwart the broad beds of verdure. I have seen battalions parading,
but the formalities of lines rather injure than help the effect,
though half a dozen soldiers, scattered about the grass, are like so
many fine touches of light in a good picture.

One of our first excursions was to Richmond Hill. We were
disappointed in the view, which owes its reputation more to the
vicinity of a great town, I suspect, than to its intrinsic merits.
The best of a capital, is pretty certain to get a name by the mere
force of tongues, and the English have a failing in common with
ourselves, which may be attributed to the same cause—an insulated
position. This precious circumstance is quite certain to breed
cockneys. The failing is that of thinking their own best, better
than every one else’s best. Travelling, however, is making great
innovations on this patriotic vice, and Richmond, I think, is losing
its parish fame.

The terrace of Richmond overlooks an exquisite bit of foreground,
however, in which the Thames makes an admirable sweep, but the nearly
boundless back-ground is crowded, confused, and totally without
relief. When Mr. Mathews, the comedian, was in America, I took him to
the belfry of the capitol at Albany, that he might get an accurate
notion of the localities. He stood gazing at the view a minute,
and then exclaimed: “I don’t know why they make so much fuss about
Richmond; now, to my notion, this is far better than Richmond Hill.”
Mr. Mathews did not recollect that they who _do_ make the fuss,
scarcely ever saw any other hill.

We were told the view was better from an upper window in the inn,
than from the terrace; but I cannot think fifteen or twenty feet
in elevation, can make any decided difference in this respect. We
went into the park, but were not particularly struck by it. There
was a large herd of deer, or I ought to say a drove, for they had
a calm and _sheepish_ appearance. It is an animal that loses its
characteristic charm, in losing its sensitive, listening, bounding
wildness, and its elasticity.

We passed Kew and Twickenham, varying the road a little in order to
do both. The palace at the former place is to come down, being an old
German-looking house that, as a palace, is unworthy of the kingdom,
and which has not sufficient historical interest to preserve it. The
gardens are valuable for their botanical treasures.

Twickenham is an irregular old village, along the banks of the
Thames, whose beauties form its charms. We saw the exterior of the
house of Pope, which is very much such a dwelling as would belong to
a man of moderate means and habits, in America. Strawberry Hill was
our object, here, however, but we were denied admission. The road,
which is narrow and winding, like a lane, a beauty in itself, runs
close to the building, but a high wall protects the grounds. In
arrangements of this sort, the English, or rather the Europeans, much
excel us. To the great houses there is space, but they understand
the means of obtaining privacy and rural quiet, in situations that
we should abandon in despair, on account of their publicity. Indeed
few men with us would consent to “hide their light under a bushel,”
by building a plain rear on the road, shutting in their grounds by
walls, and reserving their elegance for themselves and their friends.
I am not quite sure the public would not treat a man’s turning his
back on it, in this manner, as an affront, and take its revenge in
biting _his_ back, in return. Such, notwithstanding, is the situation
of Strawberry Hill, little being visible from the road it touches,
but a rear that has no particular merit.

We were much disappointed with the house, seen as we saw it, for
it appeared to me to be composed of lath and stucco; in part at
least. It is a tiny castle, and altogether it struck me as a sort of
architectural toy. And yet the English, who understand these matters
well, speak of it with respect, though there is no people with whom
“a saint in crape, is twice a saint in lawn,” more than with these
grave islanders, and it may be possible they see the wit of Horace
Walpole, where I saw nothing but his folly. Lady ——, who has so good
a house of her own, assures me the interior is quite a jewel, and the
grounds, to use an Anglicism, delicious; and that she is in the habit
of making a pilgrimage to the place twice a year. I’ll engage she
don’t walk on peas to do it.

We took another day to go to Windsor, which is twenty miles from
town. Here the Thames is scarcely larger than the Susquehannah at
Cooperstown, flowing quite near the castle. The town is neat but
irregular, and as unlike Versailles as England is unlike France.
This is a snug, compact, beef-and-beer sort of a place, in which one
might enjoy a sea-coal fire and a warm dinner, while waiting for a
stage coach; the other awakens the recollections of Burgundy and
made dishes, and of polite life. One may expect a royal _cortège_ to
come sweeping down the stately avenues of Versailles at any moment,
whereas the appearance of style in the streets of Windsor excites a
sense of unfitness. One leaves an impression of a monarch who deems
a kingdom erected for his use, who forces nature and triumphs over
difficulties to attain the magnificent; the other, of the head of
a state, profiting by accident to obtain an abode, in which his
comforts are blended with a long chain of historical images.

The English say that Windsor is the only real palace in the country,
and yet it struck me as scarcely being a palace at all. We were
disappointed with its appearance at a distance, and almost as much
with its appearance within. Like most old castles, it is an irregular
collection of buildings erected on the edge of a declivity, so as
to enclose different wards, or courts. I believe, including its
terraces, it embraces twelve acres. The Tuileries and Louvre,
together, must embrace forty. I should think the buildings of
Versailles, without reference to the courts, cover more ground than
are included within the walls of Windsor, and with reference to the
courts, twice or thrice as much. A comparison between Vincennes
and Windsor would be more true, than one between the latter and
Versailles, after allowing for the fact that Windsor is still a royal
residence. The round tower of Windsor, or its ancient keep, will not
sustain a comparison with the _donjon_ of Vincennes, while the chapel
and royal apartments of the latter, will not compare with those of
the former.

Windsor is a picturesque and quaint, rather than a magnificent place.
It has a character of progressive power and civilization, which
leads the mind to the associations of history, and which imparts to
it an interest greater than that of mere grandeur, perhaps, but it
has little pretension to be considered, on the score of taste and
splendour, the principal residence of one of the greatest monarchs
of the age; great, in connexion with the power of the nation, if not
in connexion with his own. It would be an admirable accessory to the
state of a king; venerable by time, and eloquent by association; but
it is defective as a principal. While it has great discrepancies as a
structure, there was a poetical imagery about it, that insensibly led
me to see a resemblance between it and the history and institutions
of the country; for, like them, it was the pretension of a palace
reared on a foundation of feudal usages, aristocratical rather than
royal in details, and among which the church has managed to thrust
itself with great advantage, for the chapel, in magnificence and
extent, is, out of all proportion, the finest and most important part
of the edifices.

I have given you this comparative summary, because minute accounts of
this venerable castle abound, and because these accounts do not leave
accurate notions of the respective merits of things, without details
that are fatiguing, and which are understood only by the initiated.
Still Windsor has parts that merit particular mention, and which are
peculiar to itself as a royal residence. The first of these is its
situation, which may be classed among the most beautiful known. The
view struck me, as far finer than that from Richmond Hill, though not
as extensive. It is not the site that would be apt to be selected for
a palace; but, as you can easily understand, when you remember that
the Conqueror first established a hold at the place, it has rather
the features of boldness and abruptness that belong to a fortress.
These have been softened by modern improvements, and a good terrace
now lines the brow of the hill on three of its faces.

The entrance is on the side of the town, and Windsor, like Strawberry
Hill, turns its worst side to the public. The approach is abrupt and
somewhat rude, but not without gothic grandeur. When within the
gate, one is in an irregular court, of no great beauty, though large,
but which contains the chapel, the pride of Windsor. The courts
are not on the same level, the natural formation of the hill still
existing, one lying a little above another.

We were shown through the state apartments, which greatly
disappointed us, being altogether inferior to those of almost every
French palace I have entered. There were a few rooms of a good size,
but they all had a cold German air; and their ornaments, in general,
were clumsy and in bad taste. In nothing is the superiority of the
French taste more apparent than in their upholstery, and in their
manner of fitting up apartments, and nowhere is this superiority more
obvious than in comparing St. Cloud with Windsor. At the latter we
had some ponderous magnificence, it is true, which exhibited itself
in such vulgarisms as silver andirons and other puerilities; but of
graceful and classic taste, there was surprisingly little. Even the
hues of things were generally cold and chilling.

The castle is now undergoing very costly and extensive repairs,
however, and as George the Fourth is allowed to have taste, if he
has nothing else, and he is openly accused of having sent to Paris
for furniture, it is probable that this description of Windsor will
soon become untrue. We saw a few of the improvements which promise
well, and, one room in particular, a hall in which the Knights of the
Garter hold their banquets, bids fair to be one of the finest things
in its way, in Christendom. It is to be fitted up in a gothic taste,
to correspond with the old style of the architecture, and, seemingly
in unison with the original design. In its present condition, I could
not tell how far it had been changed.

The general impression of the state apartments, as I have just
mentioned, was not favourable. They had a stiffness and a poverty of
grace, if one can use such a term, that was obvious from the first.
There were some fine pictures, and many that were indifferent. Sir
Peter Lely flourishes here, and the state bedchamber of the Queen,
for a lady as exemplary as Charlotte of Mecklenburgh, contains a
droll collection of female worthies, by that Corydon of artists.
Among them were Mrs. Middleton, Lady Denham, and the Duchess of
Cleveland! The misers of Quintin Matsys are here. But you can get
better descriptions of paintings from the regular books, than my
limits, or my knowledge can help you to.

The chapel is a noble structure. It is as old as the reign of Edward
the Fourth and it has a nave worthy of a cathedral, with a superb
window. The roof is of stone, supported by ribs and groins of
beautiful proportions. This chapel is called St. George’s, and it is
appropriated to the religious ceremonies of the Garter. The knights
are installed in the choir, which contains the banners, stalls, and
arms of the present members of the order, as Henry the Seventh’s
chapel in Westminster, contains those of the members of the order of
the Bath.

The emblems of the Garter, like those of the Golden Fleece, carry
the mind back to the days of chivalry, and to scenes of historical
interest; but they awakened in me no feelings of respect, like those
of the Bath. Personal rank is almost an indispensable requisite to
belong to the order, and this, with personal or ministerial interest,
generally suffices. The names of the sovereigns of Austria, Spain,
Denmark, France, Prussia, and the Netherlands, were over as many
stalls. There were also those of the Dukes of Dorset, Newcastle,
Montrose, Beaufort, Rutland, Northumberland, and Wellington. With the
exception of the last, did you ever hear of these knights?

There are many monuments in this chapel, one of which, to the
Princess Charlotte, is remarkable by the design, and I think
imposing, though it is not a favourite. West appears here, also, in a
new character, having sketched the designs for some of the windows.

Eton College stands under the hill, beneath the castle, and on the
margin of the river. It is a venerable and quaint pile, and I confess
it interested me quite as much as its more celebrated neighbour.
It was not a bad thought in Henry, to establish a seminary like
this, for the early education of the youth of his kingdom, as it
were within the shadow of his throne. At Windsor the king is every
thing, and boys that imbibe their earliest impressions in such an
atmosphere, will be apt to feel a lasting reverence for monarchy.
But none of the English schools, I believe, can be reproached with
disloyalty, for the English cultivate a reverence for the throne that
would seem to be pretty accurately proportioned to their systematic
intention to allow no one fairly to fill it. They honour the king,
and feed him, very much as the Egyptians treated their Apis. After
all, is there no analogy between the various mystifications of
different and remote nations?

There are said to be near five hundred oppidans, or boys who pay
for their instruction, in the school, and near a hundred on the
foundation.

We strolled in the Long Walk, which is an avenue lined by trees a
league in length. This is royal in extent, but it is scarcely in
keeping with the rest of the establishment. The park, I believe, is
very extensive, and I presume beautiful, but we had not time to enter
it. After taking a light repast, we returned to London, by a road
different from that by which we had come.

We left Windsor much disappointed in many respects, and highly
gratified in others. I had figured to myself a castle that should
possess the usual finish which belongs to the English structures
of this nature, while it was as much larger and nobler as a king
is thought to be greater than a peer, and which was seated in the
midst of such gardens and parks as I have been accustomed to see
appropriated to royalty elsewhere. Instead of this, the edifices
occupied by the family were scarcely better than a first-rate Paris
hotel, if indeed any better. In the place of grandeur and state,
however, we found quaintness and historical interest, and some of the
most lovely rural scenery imaginable brought close to the walls, to
supply the places of a broad park and formal alleys. Windsor Great
Park is detached from the castle, and, as a part of the scene, it
belongs as much to any one else as to the king.

In short, Windsor struck me as being a noble feudal residence; in
this sense, relatively royal; but scarcely as magnificent and regal,
as a palace.

We passed some very pretty houses on our way back to London. They
were not generally larger than our own better sort of country
residences, but had fewer incongruities, a better disposition of the
grounds, and every thing was much better kept. One in particular
attracted our attention, by its shrubbery and wood. A small lawn
resembled velvet, and a stream from the setting sun bathed half of it
in light, leaving the rest in shadow, producing an effect like the
glow of a well-toned painting. It was the noblest colouring I had
seen in England.




LETTER XVII.

TO MRS. COMSTOCK, COMSTOCK, MICHIGAN.


Although Paris has so much the most reputation for skill in the
art, the English certainly do know how to dance, whatever rumour on
your side of the Atlantic may say to the contrary. I remember the
sensation made in New York, by the circumstance of the wife of an
officer of some rank in the British service, not knowing how to join
in the quadrilles, or cotillions rather, as far back as the year
1815. This lady, who, by the way, was a distant relative of your own,
had been cooped up in the island of Great Britain for twenty years,
by the war, and, either through sheer patriotism, or because London
and Paris then lay so far asunder, her knowledge in the mysteries of
Terpsichore did not extend beyond the minuet and the country dance,
although, unlike most of those who then came among us from Europe,
she was of gentle blood, herself, and her husband was the son of a
lord. When this lady made her first appearance at a New York ball,
to adopt a form of expression a good deal in vogue here, and which
it is quite fair to use in the way of retaliation, she had been just
_caught_, so far at least as dancing was concerned.

Times are altered, and although I will not even now take it
upon me to affirm that the English women are as graceful, or as
sylph-like, in a ballroom, as our own, they contrive, however,
by the aid of their sweet faces, to render their quadrilles very
attractive. Since the _pêle mêle_ of society has put an end to the
public entertainments of our own large towns, we labour under the
disadvantage of being obliged to use rooms so small that there is
little space for graceful motion; an evil that is fast undermining
our renown, in this particular, by introducing a slovenly and
careless movement. You must look to it, or the English will come to
be your equals in this accomplishment.

I have been led into these profound reflections, in consequence of
having made my own appearance at some eight or ten of the balls of
London, not, however, as an actor, but in the more sober character of
an observer. It is my intention to endeavour to enliven your solitude
near the setting sun, by rendering some account of what I have seen.
My first appearance, at a premeditated evening party, did not happen
to be at a ball, but at one of the receptions of a bachelor, who, in
virtue of his great wealth, high rank, spacious house, and, for any
thing I can say to the contrary, personal qualities, is, I believe,
quite generally admitted to collect the very social _élite_ of
London. As there have been some very silly tales told, among our
friends, in reference to my introduction to this gentleman, or rather
to his house, for to _him_ I never spoke, you will pardon a few
personal details, if I tell you the truth, by way of preface.

You are to know, that, under the English system of exclusion, and
owing to the silliness of man, to say nothing of the certain quality
in the ladies, heaven and earth are sometimes moved, in order to
obtain access to particular houses. As it may be well to understand
each other on the subject of terms, let me explain what is meant
here by exclusion. English exclusion is a wheel within a wheel;
it is a capricious and arbitrary selection independently often of
rank, fortune, birth, accomplishments, learning, or any thing else
beyond mere fashion. It probably can no more be accounted for, than
the dog, who did not eat hay himself, nor could give a substantial
reason why he refused to let the ox have it. It is a sheer and
natural consequence of the wantonness that is engendered by extreme
luxury and a highly factitious state of things. We make a great
mistake in America, in this matter, by blending the selection of
society that are connected with education, similarity of habits and
modes of living, unison of opinions, tastes, and breeding, with the
arbitrary exclusion that is founded on nothing better than the whim
I have just mentioned. One is natural, the other forced; one is
necessary to the well ordering of society, and to the preservation
of manners and tastes, the other is an effort to supplant the useful
by the capricious; one is indispensable to all that is respectable
in the sense connected with station, and is the only means by which
grace can be cultivated, or refinement produced, while the other is
inherently and irretrievably vulgar. Wherever civilization exists,
society will be separated by castes, for it is not desirable to
reduce all to the same level of deportment, tastes, and intelligence,
nor possible without making a sacrifice of that which is most
estimable. All that liberty assures us, is an entire equality of
rights, and there would be little of this in a community, in which
the cultivated and elegant were compelled to sacrifice their feelings
by an unlimited association with the ignorant and coarse. The common
sense of mankind, every where, silently admits this, and they who cry
out loudest against it, are men who usually are unyielding to those
beneath them, and declaimers for social equality only as respects
their betters. They do not understand the reasons of their own
exclusion, for they cannot comprehend points of breeding they have
never been taught, tastes they have never cultivated, language they
have never heard, and sentiments they have never felt. Happily these
social divisions are inevitable, but the extreme exclusion of the
English, is a diseased excrescence; a sort of proud flesh, that has
shot up in a moral atmosphere, in which these natural causes have
been stimulated into unnatural action, by the uncalled for aid of
artificial stimulants and calculated adjuncts.

I cannot tell you _why_ the house of the Duke of —— is considered the
very centre of exclusion, in the sense last named, at London; but I
believe such to be the fact. After a few general admissions in favour
of colour, texture, and workmanship, one would be puzzled to say why
your sex decided on the fashion of the hat at the last exhibition of
_Longs Champs_. The Duke of —— is neither the oldest, the richest,
the handsomest, the youngest, nor yet the most illustrious man
in London, by a great many, and still, in a sense connected with
extreme _haut ton_, he is, perhaps, the one most in request. He is
the most _fashionable_, and that, until the _mode_ shall be changed,
is all that it is necessary to establish, to make out my case. Mr.
—— mentioned, in conversation, that the master of this enviable
establishment, had expressed a desire that he would invite me to be
among the guests on his next evening. “He would have sent his card,
but I told him you would not stand on the ceremony,” added my friend.
It is always so much better that one should conform to the usages
that custom and delicacy prescribe, and this the more especially when
circumstances may render others doubtful of their reception, that I
thought he had much better not have told him any such thing. A card
would have removed every obstacle, and, as I was on easy terms with
the negotiator, I believe I laughingly intimated as much. All that
was said on the occasion, was said in three minutes, and amounted to
a delivery of the request, the explanation I have mentioned, and my
laughing comment. The next day I dined with two Americans, both of
whom have long been resident here, and the conversation happening
to turn on visits, I inquired whether there was any exemption in
the case of a peer, about making the first visit in England, or, in
short, whether our own usage, or that of the continent prevailed. I
then mentioned the equivocal sort of invitation I had to —— house.
They both assured me, I had not received the proper attention, and
that I was not bound to notice it, any further than had been done, by
a simple acknowledgment of the civility of the messenger. One might
go, or not, on such an invitation. In Paris it would have been my
duty to leave a card, in such a case, and on its being returned, I
might have gone with propriety. Under the circumstances, I determined
to let things take their course; or if Mr. —— said any thing more
about it, to go on his account; if not, to stay away on my own. When
the evening arrived, however, Sir James Macintosh very kindly sent a
note, to say _he_ would be my companion, and I I had nothing to do
but to express my acknowledgments and readiness to accompany him;
for while I cared very little about —— house, and exclusion, I did
care a good deal about receiving such an attention from Sir James
Macintosh.

I have said more concerning this silly affair than it deserves, but,
having related the simple facts, it may be well not to throw away the
moral. So much deference is paid here to rank, the cravings of the
untitled to be noticed by the titled are so strong, and America is
deemed so little worthy of taking place with any thing, that I am not
surprised that the truth, even in this case, should excite comment
among the English. But what are we to say and think of our own manly,
and “much beloved country,” which, instead of supporting one of its
citizens in maintaining what was due not only to himself, but to his
nation, helps to confirm its present unseemly position, by decrying
what would have been no more than an act of gentlemanly propriety and
dignity, had it occurred, and which never having occurred at all,
lends itself to the circulation of the falsehoods, that the malignant
feelings of a set, in which even the name of America is hated, have
seen proper to set in motion!

The American who comes to this country, and, forgetful of
self-respect, of national pride, of the usages of society even,
becomes the toad-eater of the great, is represented as a gentleman,
as a man of sentiment, and of delicate feelings! The crumbs of
flattery that are thrown out to him, to lead him on, and render
him ridiculous, that the people to whom he belongs may be held up
to ridicule through him, are reported at home, with high sounding
exaggerations in his favour, while he who would simply maintain
that an American gentleman is entitled to be treated like any other
gentleman, is rendered liable to exaggerations just the other way.
After all, unhappily, there is no more in this, than has marked our
career from the commencement. The American who gets the good word
of England is sure of having that of his own country, and he who is
abused by England will be certain of being abused at home. I doubt if
the history of the United States shows an instance to the contrary,
except in cases connected with the party politics of the day, and
much of the time, not even in them. It is not possible for one living
at home, fully to comprehend the extent of the malignancy, or the
nature of the falsehoods that are industriously circulated here, at
the expense of the country and its citizens, and so far from leaning
to credulity, when any thing of this nature reaches his own side of
the Atlantic, not only does his character for sagacity require him
to receive it with caution, but even his _safety_. If the craven
and dependent feeling which exists so strongly in what are called
the better classes of America, on the subject of Great Britain,
existed in the body of the nation, our political union, or political
independence, in my opinion, would not be worth ten years’ purchase.

I went to the lodgings of Sir James Macintosh, in Clarges Street,
where we boldly entered a _hackney coach_, together, and drove
triumphantly up to the very door of —— house. I was quite passive in
this daring act, however, and I throw the whole responsibility on the
shoulders of my learned companion. We found the entrance thronged
with footmen, and carriages were constantly arriving.

—— house has one of those ill-contrived entrances, by a flight
of exterior steps, which can never be used in bad weather, and
which ought never to be used by your sex, at all. To obviate
this difficulty, there is a more private entrance, through the
basement, by which we were admitted. Here we found, in a sort of
semi-subterraneous ante-chamber, ladies uncloaking, amid some fifty
lackies. The room was in truth, above ground, but it strongly
reminded me of the apartment beneath the rotunda of the capitol;
that which is called the _caucus_. A footman took our names, and we
were announced by a line of servants spread through the passages and
on the stairs. I believe there were four repetitions, all in good
audible voices.

As the groom of the chambers, who stands at the door of the first
reception-room, does not announce until you arrive, this mode at
least has the merit of letting you know what is about to be said
of you, and it affords an opportunity of correcting mistakes. On
reaching this personage, he preceded us through one room to the door
of a second, where he announced us, in the usual manner. There may
be a little more style in this method of sending up names, but it
is not easy to see its use, (unless you admit the one already named)
especially if there be a convenient ante-chamber to uncloak in. Both
the ante-chamber, and the stairs of —— house, used to-night, were
unworthy of the rest of the exhibition. The latter, in particular,
were almost as narrow and mean as a New York flight.

Lord N——, one of the men of fashion and taste here, told me, in
speaking of your sex in England, that he fancied he could see a
difference between the women one meets with in and about Grosvenor
Square, and the women who frequent —— house. He gave a decided
preference to the latter. When you remember that Grosvenor Square
is inhabited by some of the highest nobles of England, and that it
is one of the distinguished quarters of the town, you will at once
perceive how subtle are the lines drawn by a fastidious taste, or, at
least, by a fancy, that is overshadowed by fashion.

We found some two or three hundred of the _élite_ of the town,
collected on this occasion. The master of the house was not present,
and we were received by a sister Lady, who excused his absence
by telling us he was indisposed. After this ceremony, we were
permitted to stroll through the rooms and to look about us. I was
introduced to a dozen people, among whom were M. Palmella, the
Portuguese ambassador, and Sir James Scarlett. The former was a
short, compactly-built, man, like most of his countrymen, while the
latter, whom I had figured to myself, on account of the odious wigs
of Westminster Hall, as a staid old gentleman, with a greasy face and
a red nose, was a handsome, genteel, well-formed, and well-dressed
man of fashion. When I mentioned my surprise to ——, he humourously
remarked: “Yes, yes; he is good-looking, and all that, but he is an
impudent dog in the house; most of the lawyers are impudent dogs in
the house.” It is impudence, you will understand, for a new man to
let it be seen he knows more than your hereditary legislator.

I cannot say that I was as much struck with the peculiar advantages
of the ladies over the rest of their sex, as was the case with my
Lord N——. There were many pretty, and a few beautiful, women present,
but nothing of a very extraordinary nature. The Princess Lieven,
who is a mirror of fashion, was among them. She looked more like an
American woman, than most of the others.

I was a little amused with two or three whom I knew, and who
evidently watched my manner, with the idea of detecting provincial
surprise at the splendour and beauty by which I was environed.
The expectation was too obvious to be mistaken. As respects the
magnificence, it was certainly a great deal beyond any thing we
have, and as certainly as much below a great deal I had seen on the
continent. As an American, perhaps, I ought to have been astonished,
though certainly not as a traveller.

The house was spacious, without being remarkably so; the furniture
and fixtures were comfortable and heavy, rather than tasteful and
rich; and the whole entertainment, the mean approach excepted, was as
much respectable as magnificent. As for the company, I saw nothing
unusual in its appearance. There may have been certain conventional
signals and forms that rendered it peculiarly agreeable to those who
were in the secret; but, judging it by those general laws that are
supposed to regulate the intercourse of the refined and polished,
it struck me as being _tant soit peu_ below the tone of one or two
_salons_ I have entered in Paris. Of course, there was no vulgarity,
no noise, and a good deal of ease, and much good sense; but there was
a slightly apparent self-felicitation and enjoyment, in a good many,
that a little too plainly betrayed a consciousness that they were in
—— house.

I was a little annoyed by the curiosity to see how an American would
be struck with the wonders, and may have attributed this feeling to
some who did not entertain it; but still I should say, that while
there was possibly less acting on the score of personal vanity and
from individual motives, than there would have been among the same
number of French people of rank, there was a good deal more of it,
from the exultation of belonging to a set so particularly exclusive.

There was present a young Duke of ——, with his wife on his arm; a
lady old enough to be his mother. She was a dark Spanish-looking
woman, well preserved, and with the remains of great beauty.
I thought the faces of your sex less English than common, a
circumstance which may have been owing, however, to the _coiffures_,
which were generally French. The _toilettes_ were rich and handsome,
of course; but it is a fact, I think, beyond cavil, that the women of
London do not dress as well as their fair rivals, on the other side
of the channel; and I can only account for it, by the English lady’s
maid wanting the tact and taste of her French competitor; for, half
the time, the peculiarity is observable at Paris, even, where both
parties have access to the same _artistes_.

I went away early, and alone, the latter circumstance occasioning a
mistake almost as ludicrous as that which accompanied the well-known
Philadelphia experiment in announcing. There is a woman of fashion,
here, a Countess ——, whose husband’s title is the same as his name,
which is the same as our own in sound, though not in spelling.
The latter having been varied by one of those caprices that have
converted St. Maur into Seymour, and, according to Sir William of
that Ilk, Pepin into Draper. I gave my name to the groom of the
chambers, on leaving the rooms, and at my request, he called for Mr.
——’s servant, for I had ordered little Smith to be in waiting with
a cloak, intending to walk home, the distance being trifling. The
first servant on the stairs, however, accustomed to the title of my
fair namesake, and aware that she was in the rooms, called out, in a
loud voice, for “Lady ——’s people.” This cry preceded me, and when I
reached the _caucus_, I found two powdered and liveried lackies ready
to cover me with shawls and cloaks! I declined their good offices,
but begged one of them to call Mr. ——’s man. The little fellow made
his appearance, amid the sneers and laughter of his taller peers, who
seemed to regard his powdered poll, and lack of inches, much as the
peacocks regarded the finery of the daw.

I went one evening lately, to three balls, a mode of comparing sets,
that I have always found useful in getting accurate notions of the
ways of the world. As a brief account of what I saw, may not only
amuse you, but serve to give you an idea of how these things are
managed here, it shall not be withheld.

The first visit was to a rich merchant, who had risen in the world
by his own enterprise, and who had finally come to keep what might
be called a pretty good house. The style of building was much the
same as that which prevailed in New York among genteel people, some
thirty years since, with the exception that there was no stoup. The
drawing-rooms were up one flight of steps, that in front occupying
the whole width of the building. This is a fashion almost as general
here, with the exception of the great houses, as the two rooms and
folding doors, at home.

The mistress of this house was nervous, fidgety, and uneasy lest
every thing should be not quite as elegant as she desired. I had not
been in the room five minutes, before she whispered to me her great
sorrow that the _Honourable_ Mrs. Somebody had not been able to come,
on account of some distressing event; this being positively the first
time, in my life, I had ever heard of the honourable personage.
There is a class here, that make almost as much use of this word,
as the editors who come from New England. The company was exactly
what you would suppose it to be when the presence or absence of an
_honourable_ Mrs. Somebody was a matter of moment.

From this house I went to another, in the neighbourhood, for the
mercantile people, who aim at fashion, now live altogether at the
west end, where I found very much the same sort of dwelling, but
very different company. The mistress of this house, was an American,
married to an Englishman of a good estate, and of respectable
standing. Here I met with honourables and right honourables, enough;
no one appearing to care any thing about them. I should absolutely
have nothing to say concerning this ball, which was just like any
other ball in a respectable house, did I not feel bound to add that I
was much struck with the beauty of the young women, the neatness of
their attire, and the accuracy and lady-like manner of their dancing.
The quadrilles did not equal those of the Russian embassy, at Paris,
already mentioned, it is true; for there was neither the numbers, nor
the space, and possibly not the instruction necessary to produce an
exhibition of this nature, equal to what one sees in Paris; but they
were very graceful, and, what may appear to you as heterodox, quite
equal in beauty to what one sees in New York or Washington.

I was looking at the dancers, when an English acquaintance observed,
that he had lately met with a young American at a ball, and “really
he could not see that she did not dance quite as well as the English
girls about her.” You will judge of the effect this produced on me,
when I tell you, it was said, just as I had silently come to the
conclusion that the English girls had, at last, learned to dance
_nearly_, if not absolutely as well, as our own!

This may serve to give you some notion how accurately nations
understand each other’s peculiarities. Since my sojourn in Europe,
it has been my good luck to witness the triumph of one American, on
a scene far superior to any thing that usually offers in London. I
shall not name the place, nor even the country, but it was at a ball
given by a woman of royal birth. The palace was magnificent; and the
company, the first in Europe. There were present fifteen or twenty
royal personages, or those who were closely allied to monarchs,
and nearly half in the room were of the titular rank, at least, of
princes. I remember there was the heir to an English dukedom among
others, and he attracted no more attention than any ordinary young
man. A young American girl was invited to stand up in the set of
honour. Her quiet, simple, feminine, lady-like dancing, coupled with
the artless ingenuousness of a sweet countenance, in which mind was
struggling with natural timidity and the reserve of good breeding,
caused her, even in that assembly, to be instantly an object of
universal admiration. As I stood in the crowd, unknown, I overheard
the comments, which were general on every side of me. “Who is it?”
was the first question; and when some one told her name and country,
I heard no exclamation of surprise, that an American should be a
lady, or know how to dance. In the course of the evening, it is true,
twenty compliments were paid me on the grace and deportment of my
young countrywomen in general, for it was inferred, at once, that
they had seen a specimen of the nation!

From the house of Mrs. ——, who, herself, is far more creditable to
us, than many who figure in the periodicals, showing her adopted
countrywomen in what the true virtues of your sex consist, by being
a model for a wife and mother, while she has cleverness and spirit,
I went to that of a Lord C——. Although I was now under a patrician
roof, I saw no sensible difference in the building. Even the merchant
was as well lodged as the peer, and all three of the houses had
precisely the same wearisome monotony as our own. After the taste and
variety of the dwellings on the continent of Europe, you may imagine
how dull and fatiguing it is to enter twenty houses of a morning,
and find precisely the same internal arrangement. They appear to me
to be constructed like the coffins one sees in our streets, for some
particular market, differing in sizes to suit, not the persons, but
the purses, of customers, and, being put one in another, sent away
for sale.

The company at Lord C——’s, was much the same as that at Mrs. ——’s.
It was generally well bred and well toned, and, in the principal
drawing-room, where the quadrilles were in motion, I saw no
difference, beyond that which belongs to personal peculiarity. There
were the same pretty faces, the same fine, well-rounded forms, and
the same regulated and graceful carriage. Depend on it, the English
women will, sooner or later, dance as well as yourselves. Good luck
to Free Trade!

You will feel some desire to know how balls, like the two last, will
compare with balls of our own. In London, the rooms are a little
larger; the music is much the same; the females, to a slight degree,
are better dressed, as to freshness, though scarcely as well dressed
as to taste; the men also, I think, are a little better dressed. The
attendance has much more style, and the refreshments are not as good
as with us. As to the essential point of deportment, the distinctions
are more obvious than one could wish, especially among the men, and
among the very youthful of your own sex.

The young play a very different part in Europe from that which is
confided to them at home. On the continent of Europe, though girls
of condition are now permitted to mingle a little with the world
previously to marriage, it is under severe restraint, and with much
reserve. The English have greater latitude allowed them, though
infinitely less, than is granted with us. They still play a secondary
part in society, and are subjected to a good deal of restraint. I
should say that tone, reflection, and perhaps necessity, impart more
_retenu_ of manner here, than it is common to see with us, though
girls of good families, certainly the daughters of good mothers, at
home, come pretty nearly up to the level of English deportment. It
is the _pêle mêle_ of society, in towns that double their population
in fifteen years, that is so destructive of manners with us. In the
general scramble, no set remains long enough in a prominent situation
to form a model. The growth of the country has this sin to answer
for, as well as many others that are imputed to the institutions.
In brief, then, a better manner prevailed at these balls than is
usually met with at ours. I say usually, for I know exceptions in
America, but our present concern is with the rule. There was less
noise, nothing of the nursery, and generally that superiority of air,
which is a natural consequence of minds more scrupulously trained and
cultivated, and of a breeding subjected to laws more unyielding and
arbitrary. Do not whisper these opinions, I beseech you, to any of
your acquaintances, lest they murder me.

In making these comparisons, however, I do not wish to be
misunderstood. I could fill a drawing-room, even in New York, that
Babel of manners, with women who should do credit to any country. The
difficulty would not be to select, but to exclude.

I have certainly met with a few instances of the exuberant manner
among English women, but never among the higher classes. A caste, or
two, lower in the social scale, it is not uncommon, and there is a
set in which it actually appears to be the _mode_. Taking one example
from this specimen of the nation, I will describe her, in order that
you may know, not _whom_, but _what_, I mean.

Imagine a pretty woman, who will put herself in the centre of the
floor alone, _entertaining_ two or three men! She talks loud, laughs
much, and has altogether a most startling confidence about her; she
looks her companion full in the eye, with a determined innocence that
makes him feel like a victim, and causes him to wish for a fan. This
is a decided garrison manner, and has little or no success at London.
Something like it might be seen in the house to which I first went
this evening, but nothing like it, at the two others.

It ought to be said, that the young of both sexes have greatly
improved, of late years, in England. The dandies, of whom you read
in novels, have positively no existence here, or if they have, it
is not among gentlemen. I have seen a great deal of mannerism of
deportment, in the secondary classes, often to a disagreeable and
ludicrous degree, but nothing at all like the coxcombry that figures
in the descriptions of the works of fiction. The men, as a whole,
are simple, masculine in manner and mind, and highly cultivated, so
far as elegant instruction goes. They fail in the knowledge that is
practical, though with a certain set, even with this, or that which
relates to things as they are connected with the machinery of their
own power, they are familiar enough. Nearly all have travelled, and
most read four or five languages, though few speak any well but
their own. The same is true of your sex. I have hardly ever heard
the merits of a novel discussed among them, and to the continental
sentimentality they seem to be utter strangers; but it is apparent
at a glance, that they understand better things, and have had their
minds highly disciplined. Remember, unless, in specific cases, I
allude always to rules, and not to exceptions.

The English women are a little apt to strike an American as, in a
slight degree, less feminine than his own countrywomen. There is
something in the greater robustness of their _physique_ to give rise
to such a feeling, and I think they are, to a trifling extent, more
pronounced in air. While they are much more punctiliously polite,
they are scarcely as gracious. There is certainly less nature about
them, though there is more frankness of exterior. All their conduct
is rigidly regulated, and while they give you their hands in the
manner of friendship, you do not feel as much at home, as with the
American, who does not even rise to receive you, and who protects the
extremities of her fingers, as if they were not the prettiest in the
world. While the English woman would command the most respect, the
American would win most on your feelings, in a general intercourse. I
believe both to be among the best wives and mothers, that the world
contains. The English aid nature, in all things, while the Americans
too often mar it. No women do so much injustice to themselves, as the
latter; their singularly feminine exterior requiring softness and
mildness of voice and deportment, a tone that their unformed habits
have suffered to be supplanted by the rattle of hoydens and the
giggling of the nursery. I have seen many a young American, who has
reminded me of a nightingale roaring. It is a pity that they do not
seek models among the better society of their own country, instead of
the inferior sets of Europe.




LETTER XVIII.

TO RICHARD COOPER, ESQ., COOPERSTOWN, N. Y.


Mr. —— has carried his kindness so far, as to go with me on the
Thames. It had been our plan to row to Greenwich but the weather not
proving favourable, we determined to go as far as London bridge,
and return on foot through the city. We took boat, accordingly, at
Westminster stairs, and went down with the tide.

The Thames is both a pretty and an ugly stream. When full, it is a
river of respectable depth and of some width, but, at low water,
above London bridge, it is little more than a rivulet flowing
amid banks of slimy mud. The wherries in use are well adapted to
their work, in this part of the river, but lower down they are not
sufficiently protected against the waves. Accidents very frequently
happen, though probably they are not out of proportion to the number
of boats that are constantly plying in every direction. The principal
danger is of getting athwart the cables of barges and ships, when the
strength of the current is very apt to cause a wherry to fill.

As we went down with the tide, a pair of sculls answered our
purpose, for one can have oars or sculls, at pleasure. The banks of
the Thames, above Westminster bridge, are quite pretty, and above
Chelsea, where the river flows through fields, they may be said to
be even more; the villas on the shores, the windings of the current,
and the meadows, raising them almost to positive beauty. But below
Westminster bridge, little remains to be admired, until you reach the
sea. Though on a larger scale, the navigable part of the river has
a strong resemblance to the Raritan below Brunswick, being crooked,
muddy, and bounded by wet meadows. The latter has a small advantage
in scenery, however; the hills lying nearer to the stream. The
passage of the Kilns, also, has frequently reminded me of the Thames
below London.

Within the town, itself, warehouses blackened by coal-smoke,
manufactories, timber-yards, building and graving docks, and
waterman’s stairs, principally line the shores. There are no
magnificent quays, as at Paris, the shipping taking in and
discharging by means of lighters, except in the wet docks, of which,
however, there are now nearly sufficient to accommodate all the
shipping of the port that is engaged in foreign trade. The Thames
presents a very different picture to-day, from what it did when
I first entered it, in the year 1806. At that time the river was
literally so crowded as to make it a matter of great difficulty to
get a ship through the tiers. There were hundreds of galliots alone,
engaged in the trade from Holland, and this in a time of vindictive
warfare! It was the only place I knew, which gave one a vivid
impression of what is meant by a forest of masts. Most of the docks
existed, too, at that time, and they were crowded with vessels. I
asked the waterman to-day, an old man who remembered the river many
years, what he thought might be the visible difference between the
number of vessels in the port, during the year 1806 and that of 1828,
and he told me fully half. My own eye would confirm this opinion. The
trade has gone to the out-ports; particularly to Liverpool. With the
commerce of the river much of its life and peculiarities, it seems to
me, have departed. The _costumes_ have disappeared: the waterman have
a less jolly manner, and even Jack wears the bell-mouthed trowsers no
longer. These mutations are constantly going on in the world, but the
Thames left a vivid impression on my young fancy, twenty-two years
ago, and returning to it, after so long an absence, they struck me
with force, and in some degree painfully.

Although the Thames is not the Seine, nor the Arno, nor the Tiber, it
has a picturesque and imposing beauty of its own, especially between
the bridges. There is a gloomy grandeur in the affluence of the dark
objects, in the massive piles that cut the stream, in the movement,
and in the sombre edifices that line the shores. Here and there a
building remarkable in history, or of architectural pretension, is
seen, and usually the dome of St. Paul’s is floating in the haze of
the back-ground. As for the bridges themselves, they are not unsuited
to the general sombre character of the view, though I think them in
bad taste as to forms. There is an English massiveness about them
that is imposing, but they strike me as being out of proportion heavy
for the stream they span, and unnecessarily solid. The arches, with
the exception of those of Southwark, are not sufficiently elliptical
for lightness and beauty. It would have been a poetical and worthy
thought to have made the bridge at Westminster gothic. Southwark
bridge is of iron, and the open work impairs the effect of its
proportions, which are much the finest of any, but could the sides be
closed, it would be a succession of bold and noble arches. Between
Westminster Hall and the custom-house, there are now five of these
heavy piles, viz. Westminster, Waterloo, Southwark, Blackfriars,
and London. Preparations are making to rebuild the latter, and as
London has improved so much in nothing, of late years, as in its
public architecture, it is fair to suppose that the new work will be
more worthy of the capital of a great empire than its predecessor;
though, I dare say, it will not be as much extolled, since nations,
like individuals, as their minds expand become less vain of their
knowledge than they were wont to be of their ignorance. The London
bridge of my nursery tales was but an indifferent specimen of
national taste, though lauded to the skies.

We passed the Temple gardens, and one or two more belonging to
private dwellings, before we got to Blackfriars, after which no
signs of vegetation were visible. The Temple buildings are quaint
and interesting, and the gardens, as usual in this country, spots of
emerald, beautifully arranged.

We landed at London bridge, and my companion had the good nature
to point out to me the supposed site of the Boar’s Head, in East
Cheap.[3] It must have been what the cockneys call a _rum_ place, for
an heir-apparent to carouse in, and yet, Shakspeare, who wrote in
the century after that in which Henry reigned, would scarcely have
presumed to take so much liberty with royalty, in an age like his,
without being sustained by pretty well authenticated traditions, in
favour of what he was doing.

Mr. —— threaded the narrow streets of this part of the town,
like one who knew them well, kindly pointing out to me every
object of interest that we passed. I smiled as we went along the
well-remembered thoroughfares, for it was not possible to avoid
comparing the cultivated, celebrated, and refined man who gave
himself this trouble, with an individual who had first introduced me,
twenty-two years earlier, into the very same streets.

You must be sufficiently acquainted with family events to know that
I was once in the navy. At that time, it was considered creditable
as well as advantageous to the young naval aspirant, to show his
mettle by going a voyage or two in a merchant vessel, as a common
mariner, before he was placed on the quarter-deck of a man-of-war.
This was my course, and I had twice visited London, in the capacity
of a young tar, before I was eighteen, besides making several other
voyages. The first time I came to London, it was fresh from college,
a lad of about seventeen. I had then been long enough at sea to get
a nautical air, and of course was confounded with my shipmates of
the fore-castle. The oldest custom-house officer put on board the
ship had been a gentleman’s domestic, and he was full of the lore of
the servants’ hall. He soon singled me out, and I was much edified,
for a week, with his second-hand anecdotes of great people, and the
marvels of the West-end. The first Sunday after our arrival in dock,
he proposed giving me ocular proofs of the truth of his accounts,
and we sallied forth in company, he as Minerva, and I as Telemachus.
We passed over much of the ground now passed over under the better
guidance of Mr. —— and it was amusing to me to note the difference
in the tastes and manner of my two cicerones. When we approached
the monument, the ex-valet stopped, and with an important manner
inquired if I had ever heard of the great fire in London. I had,
luckily, for it singularly raised me in his estimation. With due
formalities, I was then introduced to the place where it had broken
out, and to the monument. “That is what we call the monument,” said
Mr. ——, in his quiet way, glancing his eye at it, as he turned away
to show me the new Boar’s Head. “This is the house of my Lord Mayor,
and that is the coach of one of the sheriffs,” said Mr. Swinburne,
for so was the custom-house officer named. “Wren has been much
praised and much censured for this edifice,” observed Mr. ——, as we
passed beneath the massive walls. I was led by the ex-valet down a
narrow street into a quaint, old, gothic, edifice, where, in a large
hall, I was confronted with carved monstrosities in wood, which I
was told with much chuckling were Gog and Magog. “That is a quaint
and rather remarkable building,” said the poet, as we passed the
head of the same street; “it is Guildhall; you may know that it gets
its name, from being used by the guilds, or corporated companies
of the city.” “This is Bow-church, and those are the bells that
Whittington heard, as he was quitting Lunnun,” observed the oracular
Mr. Swinburne—“_You_ were born far enough from this place, to escape
the imputation of cockneyism,” remarked the poet, as we trudged
along. “There, that is St. Paul’s!” cried Mr. Swinburne, with an
awful emphasis, as if he expected me to fall down and worship it.
“It was a great work to be executed by a single architect,” the poet
simply said, “and it has many noble points about it; I think it
has, at least, the merit of simplicity.” He was right enough, as to
externals, but it wants unity of design, within.

In this way, then, I went along, with my present companion,
irresistibly tempted to compare his quiet, unpretending manner, with
the brimful importance, and strutting ignorance of the guardian of
the revenue. One of the contrasts was so droll that I have not yet
forgotten it, though it is unconnected with any of the historical
monuments. Mr. Swinburne bristled close up to me, when we had got
nearer to the court end, and putting his hand to his mouth, as we
passed a quiet old gentleman, he whispered ominously, “An earl!”—“Do
you see that person on the opposite side of the street,” said the
poet, within fifty yards of the same spot—“it is Lord ——, known as
the husband of the handsomest woman in England, and for nothing
else.” I remember to have greatly scandalized Mr. Swinburne, by one
of my antics. “Did you ever hear of such a man as John Horne Tooke,”
he inquired. “Certainly; what of him?” “Why that is he who has just
passed—the fellow who looks like a half and half parson.” I turned
in my tracks, incontinently, and gave chase, for, at that early age
I was not insensible to the pleasure of looking at celebrated men,
and I had been taught to regard Horne Tooke as a writer who had got
the better of Junius. Favored by the jacket and trousers I passed
several times round “the chace,” and I believe at length attracted
his attention, by my manœuvres. He was an austere looking man, but I
fancied he was not displeased at such evident admiration. As for Mr.
Swinburne, he applied some very caustic epithets to my folly, but I
succeeded in mollifying him by double doses of admiration for his
cockney wonders.

Some of the scenes that I had witnessed, in my first visits to
London, returned to my mind so forcibly to-day, that it appeared as
if I had gone back to boyhood and the days of fun. We had in the ship
a gigantic fellow from Kennebunk, of the name of Stephen Stimpson.
He had been impressed into the British navy, and when he joined us,
had just been discharged from a frigate called the Boadicea, of
the Boadishy, as he termed her, and (quite as a matter of course)
he hated England in his heart. This man was particularly desirous
of going to the West-end with me, at a later day, having heard
Mr. Swinburne descant on the wonders to be seen there. As we were
walking up St. James’ street in company, whither I had a great deal
of trouble to get him, for he was for philosophizing and speculating
on all he saw, and not a little for fighting, he came suddenly to
a halt. An elderly lady was walking through the crowd followed by
a footman, in a mourning livery. The man carried a cane and wore a
cocked hat. Stephen watched this pair some time, and then gravely
wished to know why “that _minister_ kept so close in the wake of the
old woman ahead of him?” I explained to him who they were, but he
scouted the idea. It was a regular “minister,” as witness the cocked
hat, the black coat and breeches, and moreover the cane, and he was
not to be bamboozled by any nonsense about servants. I had to let him
follow the lady to her own residence, where, as I had foretold, the
“minister” took off his hat, opened the door for his mistress, and
followed her into the house. It was many months before Stephen ceased
to speak of this. After all, the same _promenade_ would excite almost
as much astonishment in Broadway, at this very moment.

At that time there was a stand of sedan-chairs, in St. James’ street,
near the spot where Crockford’s club-house has since been erected.
I had some difficulty in getting him over this “shoal,” for after
laughing in the chairmen’s faces, he was for having a ride, on the
spot.

The ranger of the Green-park, usually a person of rank, has a very
pretty residence and garden, that open on Piccadilly. As we passed
its gate, on our way to Hyde Park corner, a black footman was
standing at it, his master probably expecting company. The negro was
dressed in a rich _white_ livery pretty well garnished with silver
lace, red plush breeches, white silk stockings, a cocked hat, and his
head was powdered as white as snow. You may imagine the effect such
an apparition would be likely to produce on my Kennebunk companion.
As there are no houses, but this of the ranger, on the park side of
Piccadilly, and comparatively few people walk there, we had the black
porter, for a little time, all to ourselves. It was with a good deal
of persuasion that I prevented Stephen from laying hands on the poor
fellow, in order to turn him round and examine him. As it was, he
walked round him himself, dealing out his comments with particular
freedom. All this time, the negro maintained an air of ludicrous
dignity, holding himself as erect as a marine giving a salute, and
looking steadily across the street. Among other things, Stephen
suggested that the fellow might be one of Mr. Jefferson’s “niggers,”
who had decamped with a pair of his master’s nether garments! He was
so tickled with this conceit, that I succeeded in dragging him away
while he was in the humour. When we returned, an hour or two later,
the black had disappeared.

Stephen had a desire to enter the Green-park, but I hesitated,
for I had once been forbidden admission to Kensington Gardens, on
account of wearing a roundabout. While we were debating the point,
a worthy citizen came up, and said—“Go in, my lads; this is a free
country, and you have as much right there as the King.” On this
intimation we proceeded. “What queer notions these people have of
liberty,” observed Stephen, drily. “They think it a great matter to
be able to walk in a field, and there they let a nigger stare them
in the face, with a cocked hat, red breeches, silk stockings, laced
coat, and powdered wool!” I made my own reflections, too, for the
first perception I had of the broad distinction that exists between
political _franchises_ and political _liberty_, dates from that
moment. Young as I then was, I knew enough about royal _appanages_,
and the uses of royal parks, to understand that the public entered
them as a favour, and not as a right; but had it been otherwise, it
would have left ground for reflection on the essential difference
in principle, that exists between a state of things in which the
community receive certain privileges as concessions, and that in
which power itself is merely a temporary trust, delegated directly
and expressly by the body of the people.

But I am permitting the scenes of boyhood, to divert me from the
present moment.

Mr. —— showed me the Blue-coat School, the new General Post Office,
and divers other places of interest, among which was Newgate. The
architecture of the latter struck me as being unusually appropriate,
and some of its emblems as poetically just, whatever may be the legal
reputation of the place on other points.

Pursuing our way down Ludgate-hill, my companion turned short into
the door of a considerable shop. It was Rundle & Bridges, the first
jewellers and goldsmiths of the world! England has probably more
plate, than all the rest of Europe united; at least, judging by the
eye alone, I think it would so appear to a stranger, although her
wealth in the precious stones appears to be even less than that of
some of the smaller countries. One certainly sees fewer jewels in
society, although I am told the display of diamonds at Court, is
sometimes very great. There are no public collections to compare
with those of the continent, and the severe, one might almost say
classical, purity of taste, which prevails in the dress of the men
here, must have an effect to lessen the demand for jewels.

I was on the same sofa, at a ball in Paris, with Prince ——, one of
the richest men of the continent. His arm lay on the back of the
seat, in a way to bring the hand quite near me. Every finger was
covered with jewels of price, some of them literally having two or
three, like the fingers of a woman. A piece of soap would have done
more to embellish the hand, than all this finery. Directly before me
stood the Duke of ——, one of the richest nobles of England. I took
an occasion to look at him, as he drew a glove. He had not even the
signet-ring, which it is now so very common to wear, but the hand was
as white as snow.

The shop of Rundle & Bridges was large, but it made a wholesale and
affluent appearance, rather than the brilliant show one meets with in
Paris. As Mr. —— was known we were received with great attention and
civility. One of the heads of the establishment took us up stairs,
into a more private apartment, where we were shown many magnificent
things, and among others a good deal of the royal plate which had
been sent here to be cleaned. It struck me, as a whole, that the same
objection exists to the taste of England, as respects her plate, that
exists in relation to almost all her works of art—its clumsiness.
An English tureen is larger than a French tureen; an English chair,
an English plate, an English carriage, even an English razor, are
all larger than common. The workmanship is quite often better, but
the forms are neither as classical, nor as graceful. As respects the
plate, its massiveness may convey an idea of magnificence, but it is
a ponderous and, in so much, a barbarous magnificence compared to
that in which the beauty of the proportions, or of the intellectual
part, is made of more importance than the mere metal. To the eye of
taste a vessel of brass may have more value than one of gold.

You can have no just notion of the affluence of the shops of London,
generally, in the article of plate. Gold, silver-gilt, and silver
vessels, are literally piled in their vast windows, from the bottoms
to the summits, as if space were the only thing desirable. I have
seen single windows, in which, it struck me, the simple metallic
wealth was greater in amount, than the value of the entire stock of
our heaviest silversmiths. I am certain we were shown, to-day, single
sets of diamonds that would form a capital for a large dealer in
America.

While I tell you the taste of the English plate is not generally
good, the cultivation of the fine arts being still too limited to
extend much of its influence to the mechanical industry of the
country, there are some great exceptions. Flaxman, one of the first
geniuses of our times, a man perhaps superior to Benvenuto Cellini,
in the intellectual part of his particular branch of art, was
compelled, by the want of taste in the public and his own poverty,
to make designs for the silversmiths, for which he had been fitted
by early and severe study in Italy. Perhaps he was really more
successful in his sketches than in his completer works. Had there
been a dozen such men in England, the tables of the British nobility
would have exhibited taste and beauty, as well as magnificence.

Among the royal plate was a salver just finished, which was
beautiful, although the conceit was feudal rather than poetical, and
conveyed an idea very different from that created by a sight of the
steel-yards, and weights, and other familiar objects of domestic use,
disinterred at Pompeii. The material was gold, and the ornaments
were the stars and other insignia of the orders of chivalry which
the present king is entitled to wear. The star and garter of the
first English order was in the centre of the salver, drawn in large
figures, while the others were arranged on the border, which was wide
enough to receive them, on a diminished, but still on a suitable
scale. The work resembled line engraving, and was done with truth and
spirit, though, after all, it was nothing but a sort of _tailorism_.
The history of the salver itself was rather curious. The eastern
kings have a practice of enclosing their personal missives in tubes
or cases of gold, resembling the tin and copper cases that are used
to hold scrolls. In the course of a century, so many of these golden
cases had accumulated, that George IV., who is a much greater prince
in such matters, than in others more essential, took a fancy to have
them converted into this piece of furniture.

I heard an anecdote the other day of this sovereign, which shows
he can at least bear contradiction, and that on a point on which
the nation itself is rather sensitive. The Duke of Wellington made
one of his guests at dinner, and the conversation is said to have
turned on the different armies of Europe! “I think it must be
generally conceded,” observed the king, “that the British cavalry
is the best in Europe; is it not Arthur?” for he is said to have
the affectation of calling the great man by his christian name, by
way of _illustrating_ himself, it is to be supposed. “The French is
very good, sir,” was the answer of a man who had seen a service very
different from that which figures in histories, novels, and gazettes.
“I allow that the French cavalry is good, but I say that our own is
better.” “The French cavalry is very good, sir.” “I do not deny it;
but is not ours better?” “The French is _very_ good, sir.” “Well, I
suppose I must knock under, since Arthur will have it so.” You are to
remember practical men say the French cavalry is the best of modern
times. Had this anecdote came from a _laquais de place_, I should not
have mentioned it.

Coming through Fleet-street, Mr. —— led me into a court, where he had
some business with a printer. Here he told me I was in Bolt-court,
celebrated as having been that in which Johnson resided. The place
seemed now abandoned to printers. Here I left my companion and
returned home.




LETTER XIX.

TO WILLIAM JAY, ESQUIRE.


I was walking to a house where I was engaged to dine, the other
evening, when a fellow near me raised one of the most appalling
street cries it was ever the misfortune of human ears to endure. The
words were “Eve-ning Cou-ri-er—great news—Duke of Wellington—Evening
Courier,” screeched without intermission, in a tremendous cracked
voice, and with lungs that defied exhaustion. Such a cry, bursting
suddenly on one, had the effect to make him believe that some
portentous event had just broke upon an astounded world. I
stopped and was about to follow the fellow, in order to buy a
paper, when another cry, in a deep bass voice, that harmonized
with the first in awful discord, roared from the opposite side of
the street, “Contradiction of Evening Courier—more facts—truth
developed—contradiction—Evening Courier.” In this manner did these
raven-throated venders of lies roam the streets, until distance
swallowed their yells—worthy agents of the falsehoods and follies of
the hour.

This little occurrence has brought to mind the subject of the daily
and periodical press, and that of literature, in general, in England,
and the duty of communicating to you some of the facts that have
reached me in relation to all these interests, which may have escaped
one residing at a distance, and who can only know them as they are
presented to the world, which is commonly under false appearances.

I presume it is a general rule, that the taste, intelligence,
principles, tone, and civilization of a nation will be reflected in
its popular publications, which will include the productions of its
periodical press of every variety. The only circumstance that will
qualify the operation of this law must be sought in the institutions.
If these are popular, the rule is pretty absolute; since the press,
by being addressed to an average intellect, will be certain to remain
on a level with its constituency. Viewed in this light, and compared
with the rest of the world rather than with moral and philosophical
truths in the abstract, the American press is highly creditable to
the American nation, corrupt, ignorant, and vulgar as so much of
it notoriously is. If, however, we look to a higher standard, and
consider the press as a means of instruction, we find less to take
pride in. The first of these facts is owing less to the merits of the
public at home, than to the misfortunes of masses of men in other
countries; and the second to a system which has created an average
opinion that over-shadows all ordinary attempts to resist it. The
prevailing characteristic of America is mediocrity.

In England, though there are local political constituencies of the
lowest scale of reason and knowledge, they exist as servants rather
than as masters. The press has no motive to address them, and of
course it aims at higher objects. But, while the strictly political
constituencies of England are scarcely of any account in the action
of the government, there is a public opinion that may be termed
extra-constitutional, that is of great importance, and which it is
necessary to manage with tact and delicacy. This common sentiment
acts through various channels, of which a single example will serve
to illustrate my meaning.

A rich man on ’change may not possess a single political right,
beyond his general franchises as a subject. He has no vote, and so
far as direct representation is concerned, no power in the state.

This is the situation of thousands in England, for while the
government is strictly one of money, seats in parliament being
bought as notoriously as commissions in the army, the system is one
which does not give money its power through qualifications, but by
a competition in large sums. But, while this stock-jobber may have
no vote, in a government so factitious, so dependent on industry, so
much in debt, so willing to borrow, and so sensitive on the subject
of pecuniary claims, his _opinion_ and goodwill become matters of the
last moment.

I have selected this instance, because the worst features of
the English press are connected with the mystifications, false
principles, falsehoods, calumnies national and personal, and flagrant
contradictions that are uttered precisely with a view to conciliate
the varying and vacillating interests that depend on the fluctuations
and hazards of trade, the public funds, and all those floating
concerns of life, which, being by their very nature more liable
to vicissitudes than homely industry, most completely demonstrate
the truth of the profound aphorism which teaches us that “the love
of money is the root of all evil.” It is not necessary to come to
England to seek examples of the effect of such an influence, for our
own city presses exhibit it, in a degree that is only qualified by
the circumstances of a state of society, which, by being a good deal
less complicated, and less liable to derangement, calls for less
watchfulness and editorial ferocity.

As a whole, then, I should say the predominant characteristic of the
English press, is dependent on the necessity of addressing itself to
the support of interests so factitious, so certain, sooner or later,
to give way, and, at the same time so all-important to the power
and prosperity of the nation, for the time being. The struggles of
parties are subservient to these ends, on which not only party but
national power depend. If it has been said truly, that the sun, in
its daily course around the earth, is accompanied by the roll of the
British morning drum, it might with equal justice have been added,
and followed by the sophisms to which interests so conflicting are
the parent.

In guarding these interests all parties unite. In this respect there
is no difference between the Times and the Courier, the Edinburgh
and the Quarterly. They may quarrel with each other about the fruits
of these national advantages, which they proclaim to be national
rights, but they will quarrel with all mankind to secure them to
Great Britain. It must be remembered that vituperation and calumny
are the natural resource of those who are weak in truth and argument,
as stones and clubs are the weapons of children. A shameless,
ill-concealed, national cupidity, then, I take to be the predominant
quality of the English press. I do not mean that the man of England
is a whit more selfish than the man of America, or the man of France,
but that he lives in a condition of high pecuniary prosperity,
(always a condition of peril) and under circumstances of constant and
peculiar jeopardy, that keep the evil passions and evil practices of
wealth in incessant excitement.

You know the mechanical appearance of the English press already.
There is much talent, mingled with much vulgar ignorance, employed
in the news departments; the journals, in this particular, appearing
to address themselves to a wider range of tastes and information,
than is usual even with us. Many of our journals, even in the towns,
are essentially vulgar, in their tone and language, adapting both
to the level of a very equivocal scale of tastes and manners, but
I do not remember ever to have seen in an American journal of the
smallest pretensions to respectability, as low and as intrinsically
vulgar paragraphs as frequently are seen here, in journals of the
first reputation. The language of the shop, such as “whole figure,”
“good article,” “chalking up,” “shelling out,” and other Pearl-street
terms, frequently find their way into the leading articles of a New
York paper, whereas those of London are almost always worded in
better taste; but, on the other hand, one daily sees the meanest and
lowest cockneyisms, united with infamous grammar, (not faults of
hurry and inadvertency, but faults of downright vulgarity) in the
minor communications of the English press. Of this quality are the
common expressions of “think of me (my) writing a letter,” “he was
agreeable (he agreed) to go,” “I am recommended (advised) to stay,”
&c. &c.

It is the fashion to extol the talents of the Times. I have now
been an attentive reader of this journal for several years, and I
must say its reputation strikes me as being singularly unmerited.
That it occasionally contains a pretty strong article is true, for
its circulation would secure the casual contributions of able men,
but, as a whole, I rank it much below several other journals in
this country, and very much below some in Paris. It is said this
paper reflects the times, and that its name has been given with
a view to this character. The simple solution of all this is, I
fancy, that the paper is treated as a property, and that it looks to
circulation more than to principles, humouring prejudices with a view
to popularity. The mere calling of names, and the bold vituperation,
for which the Times is notorious, does not require any talent,
though nothing is more apt to impose on common understandings. The
Morning Chronicle appears to me to possess the most true talent of
any journal in London. This appearance, however, may be owing to the
fact of its espousing liberal and just principles, for, unlike most
of its contemporaries, it has no need of resorting to sophisms and
laboured mystifications to maintain a state of things which is false
in itself; for it should never be forgotten, in contemplating all the
favourite theories of England, that the argument has been adapted to
the fact, and not the fact to the argument.[4] I have seen occasional
articles from a journal called the Scotsman, that appear to be
written with the simple straight-forward power of truth and honesty.
There is a lucid common sense about this paper, which gives it a high
place in the scale of the journals of the day. No article that I
have ever met with in either of these two papers betrays the cloven
foot of the pecuniary interests mentioned, though I cannot take upon
myself to say that they are entirely free from the imputation. Still
they have always appeared to me to be conducted with too much talent,
to lend themselves to a practice that one would think must offend the
moral sense of every right-thinking and right-feeling man.

Mr. Canning, not long before his death, openly vaunted the moral
influence of England, by way of supporting his political schemes.
Nothing is more evident than the fact that the journals of this
country frequently admit articles that are intended to produce an
effect in other states. I think they over-estimate their influence,
however, for I do not believe that the opinion of England has any
material power, except in America. As a people the English are not
liked on the continent of Europe, and I think the disposition is
rather to cavil at their truths, than to receive their fallacies. The
aristocracy of England has a great influence, by its wealth, power,
and style, on the _desires_ of all the other European aristocracies,
which very naturally wish themselves to be as well off, but the
dogmas of this school would hardly do for the daily journals. I do
not say that the English press totally overlooks this class and
its interests; on the contrary, it does much to sustain both, but
it is by indirect means, and not by argument, or by appeals to the
passions. It tells of the liberal acts of individuals of the body,
recapitulates the amount of rent that has been remitted to the
tenantry, and the number of blankets that has been distributed to the
poor. The left hand is studiously made to know what the right hand
has done in this way, among the great and noble, while the charities
of the more humble are usually permitted to pass in silence. Not
satisfied with this, the world is regularly enlightened on the
subject of the large entertainments given by the great, the names
of the guests, and not unfrequently with the dresses of the women.
The ravenous appetite of the secondary classes to know something of
their superiors, is fed daily in this extraordinary manner, (the
practice exists nowhere else, I believe,) and thousands of dreamy
bachelors and prim maidens, pass their days in the high enjoyment
of contemplating at a distance, the rare felicities of a state of
being to which a nearer approach is denied them, and which a nearer
approach would destroy.

I remember when I came to London in 1826, to have laughed at an
account of the manner in which Lord A., and Lady B., and Sir Thomas
C., had passed their mornings, with the usual gossip of fashionable
life that the article contained, when an American who had been some
time in England, gravely assured me that there were thousands in
the nation, who would not buy the paper were this momentous stuff
omitted. There have been books, for a very long time, which contain
the pedigrees, titles, creations, and family alliances of the peers,
and which furnish mental aliment for hundreds of devout admirers of
aristocracy. These books, which are useful enough in a certain way,
when it is remembered that the peers control the first empire of
modern times, have been extended to the baronets and knights, and
latterly to the gentry of the country. The whole forms a curious
study, when one is disposed to ferret out the true principle of the
government, and the modes by which families have attained power,[5]
but they are read with avidity, in England, as a means of holding
an intercourse with beings, who, as respects the mass, form quite
another order of creation.

But if the journals, in this manner, contribute to support the
aristocracy by feeding these morbid cravings of the excluded, they
do more towards overturning it, just now, by their open and rude
attacks. I do not say, that I have ever met with an Englishman, who
is not, in some degree, under the influence of the national deference
for nobility, for to be frank with you, I can scarcely recall twenty
Americans, who are exempt from the same weakness; but there are a
good many who, by drawing manfully on their reason and knowledge,
are enabled to detect the fallacies of the system, and who do not
scruple to expose them in the public journals. These men, of whom I
may have made the acquaintance of a dozen, remind me of the lasting
influence which the ghost stories of the nursery produce on the human
mind. We drink in these tales eagerly in childhood, and, in after
life, though reason and reflection teach us their absurdity, few of
us go through a church-yard in a dark night, without fancying that
its sheeted tenants may rise from their graves. Thus do the boldest
of the English, when philosophising the most profoundly on the wrongs
and inexpediency of aristocratic rule, look stealthily over their
shoulders, as if they saw a lord! You may judge of the profoundness
of the impression, here, by its remains in America. Certainly, the
mass of the American people, care no more for a lord, than they care
for a wood-chuck; perhaps, also the feeling of the real gentry of the
country, is getting to be very much what it ought to be, on such a
subject, seeing no more than a man of the upper classes of another
country, in an English nobleman; but take the class immediately below
those who are accustomed to our highest associations, and there is
still a good deal of the sentiment of the tailor, in their manner of
contemplating an English nobleman. Alas! it is much easier to declare
war, and gain victories in the field, and establish a political
independence, than to emancipate the mind. Thrice happy is it for
America, that her facts are so potent, as to be irresistable; for
were our fate left to opinion, I fear we should prove ourselves to be
any thing but philosophers.

It will not be doing justice to the English press, if we overlook
its disposition to indulge in coarse, national, and personal
vituperation. The habit of resorting to low, personal abuse,
against all who thwart the views of their government, or who
have the manliness to promulgate their opinions of the national
characteristics, let it be done as honestly, as temperately, or as
justly as it may, is too well known to admit of dispute. It may be
a natural weakness in man, to attempt to ridicule his enemies, but
the English calumniate them. They calumniated every distinguished
man of our revolution; no general can gain a victory over them,
and escape their vituperation; and the moral enormities attributed
to Napoleon, had their origin in the same national propensity. Some
of the English, with whom I have spoken on this subject, while they
have admitted this offensive trait in their press, have ascribed it
to the morality of the nation, to whose wounded sensibilities, the
abuse is addressed! This is very much like imputing uncharitableness
to sins, to a Christian conscience. Certainly, I am no vindicator
of the personal, or political, ethics of Napoleon. As respects his
morals, I presume, they were very much like those of other Frenchmen
of his time and opportunities, but if the sensibilities of England,
were so exaggerated, on such subjects, why did they go abroad in
quest of examples to scourge? I doubt, if there be any thing worse
in the private career of Napoleon, than the intrigue with the “Fair
Quaker,” in that of George III., or any thing approaching that, which
every well-informed man here tells me, is the present condition of
the court of Windsor. Did you ever hear the familiar French song of
Malbrook?

      “Malbrook s’en va t’en guerre.”
          etc.      etc.      etc.

Malbrook, you know, was the Duke of Marlborough, and the song is
the French mode of revenging the nation, for the manifold floggings
it received at his hands. The wisdom of thus killing an enemy
in doggerel, whom they could neither slay, nor defeat, may be
questioned, but imagine, for a moment, that Wellington, and his
fortunes had been French, and then fancy the abuse he would have
received. I never yet met with a Frenchman, who had not a most
sincere antipathy to the Duke of Wellington; they tell fierce
stories about the Bois de Boulogne, and other similar absurdities,
the outbreakings of the mortified pride of a military people, but I
never yet saw, or heard a personal calumny against him, in France,
unless it was connected directly with his public acts. They say, he
permitted the terms of the capitulation of Paris, to be violated;
but they do not enter into his private life, to villify the man. I
have, sometimes, been afraid, this tendency to blackguardism, was
“Anglo-Saxon,” for it manifests itself in our own journals, more
particularly among the editors of New England, who, if they have
more of the sturdy common sense, and masculine propensities of the
Fatherland, than their more southern contemporaries, have also the
coarse-mindedness. I have industriously sought the cause of this
peculiarity, and at one time, I was disposed to attribute it to a
low taste in the mass of the nation, which I again ascribed to the
effects of the institutions, just as with us, the strongest term of
reproach among the blacks, is for one to call his fellow, a “nigger;”
but observation has convinced me, that this national taste is only
secondary, as a cause. The press now caters to it, it is true, but
it first created it. I believe, its origin is to be found in the
vulgarity inherent in the active management of capricious commercial
interests, the factitious state of the national power, and the
genuine and unaffected outbreakings of a pecuniary cupidity. Look at
home, and you will see the presses under the control of those, who
have the management of floating interests, tainted by the same vice.
“The love of money, is the root of all evil,” and the propensity to
blackguard those who thwart the rapacity of the grasping, is one of
its most innocent enormities.

I think it very evident, that there is much writing in this country,
that is especially intended for “our market.” The English, who
control the reviews and journals, are fully aware of the influence
they wield over the public mind in America, and you may be quite
certain, that a nation, whose very power is the result of combination
and method, does not neglect means so obvious to attain its ends.
There is scarcely a doubt, that articles, unfavourable to America,
low, blackguard abuse that was addressed to the least worthy of
the national propensities of the English, were prepared under
the direction of the government, and inserted in the Quarterly
Review. Mr. Gifford admitted as much as this, to an American of my
acquaintance, who has distinctly informed me of the fact. I presume
the same is true, in reference to the daily press. Some fifty
paragraphs have met my eye, since I have been here, in which the
writers have pretty directly exulted in their power over the American
mind. This power is wielded to advance the interests of England,
and, as a matter of course, to thwart our own. It probably exceeds
any thing of which you have any idea. Whether the English government
actually employs writers about our own presses or not, at present, I
cannot say, but it has, unquestionably, agents of this sort, on the
continent of Europe, and I think it highly probable that it has them
in America.

We talk of the predestination of the Turks, but I question if the
earth contains a people who so recklessly abandon their dearest, and
most important interests, so completely to chance, as ourselves. Both
the government and the people, appear to me, to trust implicitly
to Providence for their future safety, abandoning even opinion to
the control of their most active enemies, and shamelessly deserting
those who would serve them, unless they happen to be linked with the
monster, party. The chief of a political faction may do almost any
thing with impunity, but he who defends his country, unconnected with
party, is abandoned to the tender mercies of the common enemy. In
this respect, we are like the countryman in a crowd of pick-pockets,
full of ourselves, but utterly unconscious of our risks.

The young Englishman who aspires to fortune will select his object,
and support it, or attack it, as the case may be, with his pen.
He will endeavour to counteract democracy, to sustain the English
Free Trade system, to excite prejudice against America, to arouse
antipathy to Russia, to prove France ought not to possess Antwerp,
or, to uphold some other national interest, and, if a clever man, he
is certain to be cherished by that government and rewarded. Some of
the most eminent men England has produced, have forced themselves
into notice in this manner.

Let us fancy an American to run a similar career. So little is the
nation brought before the European world that the chances are, as one
hundred to one, he would attract no notice here; but, we will imagine
him in possession of the ear of Europe, and able to bring his matter
before its bar. If England were opposed in either her prejudices,
or interests, he would as a matter of course, be vituperated; for
whom did the English press ever spare, under such circumstances?
No doubt, a thousand honest and generous pens would be ready to be
their countrymen’s vindicator; no doubt the government would throw
its broad mantle around its friend, and manifest to the world its
sense of its own dignity and interests? No such thing; the abuse of
the English press would produce even more effect in America than in
England; its tales, however idle or improbable, would be swallowed
with avidity, as tales from the capital circulate in the provinces,
and, as for the government, it already has a character here for
confiding in those who openly repudiate its principles! Well may it
be said, that we have reason to be thankful to God for our blessings,
for if God did not take especial care of us, we should be without
protection at all.

I have been much struck, here, with the little impression that is
made by the reviews. Exceptions certainly exist, but the critical
remarks that, written here, produce no visible effect, would give
a work its character with us. Every body, that is at all above the
vulgar, appears to understand that reviewing “is the great standing
mystification of the age.”

In making all these comparisons, however, we are too apt to overlook
the statistical facts of America. A short digression will explain my
meaning. If we speak of the civilization of England in the abstract,
it is not easy to employ exaggerated terms, for it challenges high
praise; but when we come to compare it to our own, we are to take
the whole subject in connection. Were the entire population of
the United States compressed into the single state of New York,
we should get something like the proportions between surface and
people, that exist in England. In reflecting on such a fact, one of
the first things that strike the mind, is connected with the immense
physical results that are dependent on such a circumstance. The mean
of the population of New York for the last thirty years, has been
considerably below a million; but had it been fourteen millions
during the same period, leaving the difference in wealth out of
the question, how little would even England have to boast over us!
Losing sight entirely of the primary changes that are dependent on
a settlement, and which perhaps seem to be more than they really
are, we have actually done as much in the same time as England, in
canals, rail-roads, bridges, steam-boats, and all those higher modes
of improvement, that mark an advanced state of society. These are the
things of which we may justly be proud, and they are allied to the
great principle on which the future power and glory of the nation are
to be based. They are strictly the offspring of the institutions.

We offer our weak side when we lay claim to the refinements, tastes,
and elegancies of an older, or, in our case, it would be better
to say, a more _compact_ condition of society. The class to which
these exclusively belong is every where relatively small. I firmly
believe it is larger with us, than among the same number of people,
in any other country, though this opinion is liable to a good deal
of qualification. We know little or nothing of music, or painting,
or statuary, or any of those arts whose fruits must be studied to
be felt and understood; but, in more essential things, we have even
sometimes the advantage; while in others, again, owing to our
colonial habits of thought, we have still less reason to be proud.

To apply these facts to our present subject, you will easily
understand the manner in which a nation so situated will feel the
influence of opinions of an inferior quality. In all communities
men will defer to actual superiority, when it acts steadily and in
sufficient force to create a standard. Unluckily manners, tastes,
knowledge, and tone are all too much diffused in America to make head
against the sturdy advances of an overwhelming mediocrity. As a basis
of national greatness, this mediocrity commands our respect, but it
is a little premature to set it up as a standard for the imitation
of others. It even over-shadows, more particularly in the towns, the
qualities that might better be its substitute. Its influence on the
whole is genial, for so broad a foundation will, sooner or later,
receive an appropriate superstructure, but, _ad interim_, it places a
great deal too much at the disposal of empirics and pretenders. This
is the reason (coupled with the deference that the provinces always
show to the capital) why reviews and newspaper strictures produce an
effect in America, of which they entirely fail in England. Here the
highest intellectual classes give reputation, while in America it is
derived from the mediocrity I have mentioned, through the agency,
half the time, of as impudent a set of literary quacks as probably a
civilized country ever tolerated. There are as flagrant things of
the sort perpetrated here, as in America, but their influence is
limited to the milliners and shop-men. A national _prejudice_ may
take any shape, in England, for no one is exempt from the feeling,
from the king on his throne to the groom in his stable; but, keeping
this influence out of sight, the standard of taste and knowledge is
too high, to be easily imposed on.

Some one has said, with more smartness than truth perhaps, so far as
one’s own contemporaries are concerned at least, “that no author was
ever written down except by himself.” Many an author however, has
been temporarily written _up_ by others. I have just had a proof of
this truth.

A work has lately appeared here, of rather more pretension than
common. This book is deemed a failure in the literary circles of
London. Of its merits I know nothing, not having read it, but in the
fact, I cannot be mistaken, for I have heard it spoken of, by every
literary man of my acquaintance, from Sir Walter Scott down; and
but one among them all, has spoken well of it, and he, notoriously
a friend of the author, “damned it with faint praise” more than
any thing else. The bookseller paid too much for the manuscript,
however, to put up with a loss, and a concerted and combined effort
has been made to write the book up. In England these puffs, which are
elaborate and suited to a grave subject, have had no visible effect,
while I see, by the journals at home, that the work in question is
deemed established, on this authority!

I am told that the practice of writers reviewing themselves, is
much more prevalent here than one would be apt to suspect. One can
tolerate such a thing as a joke, but it is ticklish ground, and
liable to misconstruction. But man loves mystification. The very
being who would bristle up and resent a frank, manly vindication of
a writer that should appear under his own name, would permit his
judgment to be guided by the same opinions when produced covertly,
nor would the modesty of the author, who glorifies himself in this
sneaking manner, be half as much called in question, as that of him
who, disdaining deceit, and met his enemies openly!

There is less of simulated public opinion in the English press
than in our own, I presume; owing to the simple fact, that public
opinion is neither so overwhelming nor so easily influenced. The
constant practice of appealing to the public, in America, has given
rise to the vilest frauds of this character, that are of constant
occurrence. When it is wished to induce the public to think in a
particular way, the first step is to affect that such is already the
common sentiment, in the expectation that deference to the general
impression will bring about the desired end. I have known frauds
of this nature, connected with personal malice, which, if exposed,
would draw down the indignation of every honest man in the nation,
on those who practised them; some of whom now pass for men of fair
characters. It is scarcely necessary to say that such fellows are
thieves in principle.

There is another all-important point on which, in the spirit of
imitation, we have permitted the English press to mislead us.
Nothing can be more apparent, in a healthful and natural state of
the public mind, that a lie told to influence an election, or to
mislead on a matter of general policy, ought to be just so much the
more reprobated than a lie that affects an individual merely, as
the concerns of a nation are more engrossing and important than the
concerns of a private citizen. In America, an election ought to be,
and in the main it is, an expression of the popular will for great
national objects; in England, it is merely a struggle for personal
power, between the owners of property. The voter with us, is one of
a body which controls the results; in England, he is one of a body
controlled by direct personal influence. No greater, ordinary crime,
against good morals and the public safety, can be committed, than to
mislead the public in matters of facts connected with an election;
and yet an “electioneering lie,” is almost deemed a venial offence
in America, because they are so deemed here, where, as a rule, every
thing is settled by direct personal influence and bribery.

Some very false notions exist in America, on the subject of the
liberty of the press. We give it by far too much latitude, perhaps
not so much in the law itself, as by opinion and in the construction
of the law. The leaning is in favour of publication; firstly,
because man is inherently selfish, and he cares little what private
wrongs are committed in feeding the morbid appetites of the majority;
and, secondly, by confounding a remedy with diet. When power is to be
overturned, the press becomes a sure engine, and its abuses may be
tolerated, in order to secure the inestimable advantages of liberty;
but liberty attained, it should not be forgotten, that while arsenic
may cure a disease, taken as daily food it is certain death. Every
honest man appears to admit that the press, in America, is fast
getting to be intolerable. In escaping from the tyranny of foreign
aristocrats, we have created in our bosom a tyranny of a character
so unsupportable, that a change of some sort is getting to be
indispensable to peace. Truth appears to be no longer expected. Nor
is this all. An evident dishonesty of sentiment pervades the public
itself, which is beginning to regard acts of private delinquency
with a dangerous indifference; and acts, too, that are inseparably
connected with the character, security, and a right administration
of the state; political jockeyship being now regarded very much as
jockeyship of another order is notoriously esteemed by those who
engage in it. In this respect, England has the advantage of us, for
here the arts of politics are exercised with greater _ménagement_,
being confined to the few; whereas, in America, acting on the
public, they require public demoralization to be tolerated.

In ferocity and brutality I think the English press, under high
excitement, much worse than our own; in general tone and manliness,
greatly its superior. In both cases the better part of the community
is exposed to the rudest assaults from men who belong to the worst.
In England, the public is generally spared the impertinence of
personal, editorial controversies, a failing of rusticity, and the
press is but little used for the purposes of individual malice; while
in America, it is a machine, half the time, which, under the pretence
of serving the public, in addition to pecuniary profit, is made to
serve the ambition, or to gratify the antipathies, of the editor, who
obtains, through its use, an importance and power he could, probably,
never obtain in any other manner. This distinction is a consequence
of presses being stock-property in England, which is not owned by
the editors; while in America, the man who writes is master of the
limited establishment. It is his machine of personal advancement.

There is one point connected with this subject, on which we admit
a degradation unknown to all other countries. Every community is
obliged to submit to the existence of its own impurities, but
we imbibe those which are generated in the most factitious and
high-wrought, and, consequently, the most corrupt state of society,
in christendom. This is another of the evils arising from a want
of pride and national character, the people which is thrown into
convulsions by the worthless strictures of any foreign traveller, on
their elegance and tastes, permitting the very putridity of foreign
corruption to fester in and pollute its bosom!




LETTER XX.

TO JAMES STEVENSON, ESQ., ALBANY, N. Y.


All this time, the business of eating and drinking goes on. There is,
indeed, too much of it for me; the late hours, and the small, heated,
and crowded rooms of London, compelling me to decline a good deal
more than half the civilities that are offered. One thing has struck
me, as at least odd. Coming, as I did, into this country, without
letters, (those sent by Mr. Spenser, excepted,) I had no right to
complain, certainly, had I been permitted to go away entirely without
a visit; but I have been noticed by more than I had the smallest
right to expect; and yet, among all those who have knocked at my
door, I am by no means certain there is a single tory! I except the
case of Sir Walter Scott, for we were previously acquainted. As we
met first in society, the attention was, perhaps, necessary on his
part, though I am far from supposing he would have thought himself
bound to cut me because I am an American, although I have some reason
for thinking that even he does not view us with very friendly
eyes.[6] I do not know the political opinions of Mr. Sotheby, though
he is evidently too mild a man to feel strong antipathies on this
account; but, I believe, these two excepted, not only every man
who has visited me, or asked me to his house, and nearly every man
whom I have met at dinners and breakfasts, has been a whig! Is this
accident, or is it really the result of feeling?

I have dined in the last month, among other places, twice at
Lansdowne-house, and once with Lady ——, who lives in good style here,
and keeps a better sort of table, though a widow. Her house was very
much like all the second class houses here, with a dining-room below,
and the drawing-rooms on the first floor, being a little larger than
a second class American town residence!

At table, we had two or three members of the lower house, a
Frenchman, and myself. The conversation turned, after the mistress of
the house had retired, on the French revolution, which was discussed,
with all the usual allusions to national character, ferocity, levity,
and jacobinism, just as cooly as if a Frenchman did not make one of
the company. The poor fellow sat on thorns the whole time, keenly
alive to the awkwardness of his situation, and looking hard at me,
the only one who did not join in the discourse, and the only one who
appeared to remember his existence.

This indifference to the feelings of others, is a dark spot on the
national manners of England. The only way to put it down, is to
become belligerent yourself, by introducing pauperism, radicalism,
Ireland, the Indies, or some other sore point. Like all who make
butts of others, they do not manifest the proper forbearance, when
the tables are turned. Of this, I have had abundance of proof, in my
own experience. Sometimes, these remarks are absolutely rude, and
personally offensive, as a disregard of one’s national character, is
a disrespect to his principles, but as personal quarrels on such
grounds, are to be avoided, I have uniformly retorted in kind, if
there was the smallest opening for such retaliation. Sometimes, the
remarks are the result of kind feelings, and a misapprehension of
facts, when I have always endeavoured to set the matter right. All
foreigners complain of the English, in this respect; though so far
as my little experience goes, I think, in general, the very highest
classes do not merit the opprobrium they receive on this account,
although extraordinary things of the sort are told of even them.
Down as low in the social scale, as the third or fourth sets, the
commercial classes in particular, the failing amounts almost to
intolerance.

We, that is to say, the men, were still at Lady ——’s table, when the
raps at the front door, announced evening company. It is necessary
to understand the eloquence of a London knocker, to appreciate the
melody that followed. Two or three messages were sent to the guest
most at home, to summon us to the drawing-room, but the French
revolution was in the way. At length, we got rid of the bloody
tragedy, and mounting to the first floor, found a room already full
of company.

I had the honour of being introduced to Lady ——, who came nearer to
a dandy in petticoats in her manner, than any woman I ever met with.
I can only liken her apparent affectations of speech, to those one
sometimes hears on the stage; a lisping, drawling superciliousness,
that may be understood, but cannot be described. She is the only
instance I have yet met with, of an English woman of rank, who had
not an unpretending, simple manner of utterance, for most of them
speak the language, not only well, but with a quiet dignity, that is
very agreeable. Indeed, I should say, the women of this country, as a
rule, speak with great precision and beauty, though they often appear
cold and repulsive.

A countrywoman of ours, at ——, was always talking of this Lady ——.
Of course, I supposed they were intimate, the official characters of
their husband’s bringing them necessarily much together. I alluded,
therefore, to Mrs. ——, as one of her acquaintances. “——” “——,” she
repeated, with that exquisite lisp of hers, “I do not think I know
them.” I wish I could impart to paper, the consummate affectation
of her manner, as she said this, for it was quite as admirable in
its way, as the coolness with which she denied an acquaintance, that
I was certain, in the nature of things, she could not readily have
forgotten. I was soon tired of this, and stole away at the first
opportunity.

There was at table to-day, Mr. —— ——, the —— —— ——. He is a
distinguished commoner, a member of parliament, and a rich
landholder. I was surprised to find, this person speaking very much
in the worst _drawing-room_ manner, of our New England dialect. I
do not mean, that he said “dooze” and “ben,” and “nawthin,” for his
pronunciation was not amiss, but he had the mean intonation, and
sing-song utterance, that we so well understand in America. I should
have pronounced him one of us, in a minute, had I not known who he
was. This is the second instance of the kind, I have met with here.
_Au reste_, he was a benevolent, sensible, modest man, and, as I
thought, without prejudice against America. I love such Englishmen.

I have breakfasted, lately, with Sir James Macintosh, Mr. Sharp, Mr.
—— ——; and two or three others. At the house of the first, I met Mr.
Winn, a prominent whig; and at the latter’s, we were the host, Lord
S——, Sir —— ——, and myself. Mr. Rogers was also present, on most of
these occasions. At Mr. Sharp’s, were Lord ——, a young tory for a
novelty, and Lord ——, a lad, who is the heir of Lord L——. I had seen
the former in Paris.

You will be amused with one of my discoveries. I was offered an egg,
with the recommendation, that it was “a country laid egg.” I had
thought myself, until that moment, deeply versed in the mystery of
cooking and eating eggs, whether _à la coq_, or, in _omelettes_.
Never before, had I heard, that an egg laid in the country, was
better than one laid in a town! I was once told, (it was when a
boy,) that the fashion in cooking eggs, like every thing else, was
running from one extreme to the other, provincial ignorance having
been suddenly enlightened, and from boiling them as hard as bullets,
we had exaggerated the new mode by barely warming them through. An
egg should be cooked, _à la coq_, just enough to allow the centre of
the yolk to run while warm, and to become hard when cold. It should
always be eaten from the shell, both because it is better taken in
that way, and because it is not gentlemanly to be making messes,
and more especially unsightly messes, at tables The wine glass or
egg-glass, is an abomination, and altogether a most vulgar substitute
for the egg-cup, and one quite unfit to be seen any where but in a
steamboat, or a tavern frequented by _gulpers_. All men accustomed
to polite life will agree to this, but how many know the difference
between a “town-laid” and “a country-laid egg?” You see by these
little incidents how far a new country may be from an advanced state
of civilization, notwithstanding it possesses gallowses.

The conversation at Mr. L——’s, whom I had known in America, turned
on the begging mission of Bishop Chase of Ohio. One of the gentlemen
gave an account of this prelate’s church statistics that startled me
a little. The population of the state was set down at pretty near a
million, and the clergy at less than a dozen! I ventured to say that
this must be a mistake, unless clergymen of the Protestant Episcopal
Church were exclusively meant. There is always a period in the first
settlement of a region where there is a deficiency in the spiritual
ministrations, but the accounts should not go forth unaccompanied by
the explanations, for they tend to mislead. The statements relative
to drunkenness, got up for effect by the Temperance Societies at
home, are giving us an undeserved reputation for that vice, of which
I feel convinced we have, relatively, _among the native population_,
as little as any other nation I have visited, and much less than
most of them. I feel persuaded there is a party in America that
wishes to see these misstatements propagated, in order to bring free
institutions into disrepute, a party that embraces a large portion
of the trading foreigners, and verily they achieve their object,
for democracy and drunkenness are closely associated in the minds
of millions of the well-intentioned in this hemisphere. If free
principles do prevail, it will be under the providence of God, and
through their own energies; for those who spout loudest in their
praise at home, and even carry out their doctrines to untenable
extremes, take the least heed of any thing that does not immediately
affect their own personal interests, and as for the government it
actually throws its weight into the hostile scale on this side of the
Atlantic, opposing its own friends and rewarding its enemies. This is
a singular state of things, but such is the result not only of my
own observations, but of those of various intelligent countrymen of
ours, who have seen much more of Europe than myself. Were I an office
seeker, I would at once resort to the meannesses that obtain for an
American the outward favours of the aristocracies of Europe, whatever
may be their secret opinions, as the most certain method of being
deemed worthy of the confidence of the government at Washington, and
of obtaining a reputation in the circles at home.

I have lately had an extraordinary proof of what I now tell you. At
one of the dinner’s at Lansdowne-house, Mr. Brougham was present.
He came late, and took his seat at the table opposite to the end at
which I sat. Of course we had no conversation during dinner. As we
were retiring to the drawing-room, Lord Lansdowne did me the favour
to present me to this distinguished man. The introduction took
place at the dining-room door, and we walked across an ante-chamber
together, when the usual compliments and civilities passed. We had no
sooner reached the ladies and made our bows, than Mr. Brougham turned
to me, and abruptly demanded—“What is the reason so many of your
people desert the distinctive principles of your government, when
they come to Europe?”

I have been thus particular in relating the circumstances under which
this extraordinary question was put, for I think they prove what was
uppermost in the mind of Mr. Brougham, and the strong impression
that had been left by the circumstance to which he alluded. It is
quite evident that this impression must have been unfavourable either
to the institutions, or to the candour of the national character.

I hoped the fact was not so. “My experience would say it is,” was
the answer. “To what class of men do you allude, in particular,
Mr. Brougham?” “To your foreign ministers, especially,” he said. I
thought this very extraordinary, and said as much, and, as something
might depend on the character of the individual, I begged him to name
one of those who left this impression behind him. He did, mentioning,
without reserve, a distinguished minister of the republic, who is
now dead. To all this, I could only say, that I supposed a mistaken
desire to make themselves agreeable must have been at the bottom of
such a course; and here the conversation dropped, by mutual consent.

I do not know whether this conversation will strike you as it struck
me, for I confess it would seem that we have some “country laid”
ministers, or our ministers have felt confident of having had very
“country laid” constituents.

Mr. Brougham was desirous of knowing how we contrive to print books
so cheaply, as he had understood we did, labour being so dear. He
had been told that Scott’s novels were sold for a dollar a copy. The
secret of this fact, is to be found in the meanness of execution,
the extent and the rapidity of the demand, and most of all, in the
circumstance, that the author is paid nothing. A reprint, moreover,
is not made from a manuscript, and has no alterations, and few
corrections. In addition to all this, the press correction of books,
is immeasurably more accurate and laboured in England, than in
America. Men of education are employed here, as proof readers, and,
perhaps, most of the popular authors of England, have very little
knowledge of the grammar of their own language. All these people must
be paid, and the money is charged against the work.

A novel, of no great merit, will bring its author four or five
hundred pounds in England, especially if it be at all supposed to
bring the reader in contact with the feelings and sentiments of the
“nobility and gentry.” So profound is the deference of those who live
in shadow, for those who are beneath the sun’s rays, in this country,
that the price of a lord’s pen, is considerably higher, than that of
a commoner’s! I dare say, it will be a new idea to you, to measure
literary merit by a pedigree, but it is a mode much practised here. A
lady of condition, lately offered a novel to a fashionable publisher,
and the answer was, “two hundred if anonymous, and five hundred with
the name of the author;” the latter, you will understand, having no
other value than that of rank, the book being a first effort. An
application was made to me, to contribute to an annual, and, by way
of inducement, I was shown a list of those who had engaged to write
for it, among whom, were six or eight lords. Curious to know, how far
these people submitted to vulgar considerations, I put the question,
and was given to understand, that they were not only paid as writers,
but paid as lords. The moon may not be made of green cheese, but rely
on it, could we get near enough to discover its substance, it would
turn out essentially different from any thing we imagine.

There was a boy, the heir of a very high title, at one of my late
breakfasts. He went away the first, to go to school, I fancy, and the
master of the house made the mistake of leaving us, while he went to
the ante-chamber, to see the lad off. When he returned, he came up
to me, with a momentous manner, and muttered, “three earldom’s in
the family!” I was compelled to compare this, with the total absence
of fuss about boys and girls of rank on the continent of Europe.
Just before we left Paris, at a child’s ball, a little girl, who was
selected to dance with one of the princes, was told by her mother, to
say, “monseigneur,” in speaking to her partner. After they had got a
little warmed with the exercise, the pretty little thing turned round
to the boy and said—“why am I to call you ‘_monseigneur_,’ are you a
bishop?” “_Je n’en sais rien, moi_,” was the answer. There is young
——, he is the heir of vast estates, of palaces without number, and of
a collection of pictures and statuary alone, that would constitute
a large fortune. There are five or six principalities in the family,
and when he is married, he is to take one of these titles, until he
succeeds to the ancient and historical distinctive appellation of
his race. But, at present, no one calls him by any thing but his
Christian name, although nearly a man!

It appears to me, that the nobles of this country, themselves,
make very little parade of their claims, but that the fuss comes
principally from those who deem it an honour to be their associates.
Nothing more deranges the philosophy of one of the true devotees of
rank here, than to find that others do not worship the idol with the
same zeal as himself.




LETTER XXI.

TO RICHARD COOPER, ESQUIRE, COOPERSTOWN.


Perhaps, I ought not to confess the weakness, but we have actually
been to see the tower. Luckily, the “lions” have been sold, so we
escaped the most vulgar part of the exhibition.

The tower proper, is a square building, with four turrets, or rather
towers at the angles, and is by no means large, though it is said to
be as ancient as the conquest. The Romans are thought to have had
a fortress, at, or near, its site. In addition to this building,
however, there is a little dingy town around it, principally built
of bricks, and surrounded by a ditch and walls. The latter have
regular bastions, and the former is wide, deep, and wet, feeling the
influence of the tides of the river, for the whole stand immediately
on its banks.

This place has been so often described, that I shall say little
beyond our general impressions. It struck us as much less imposing
than Vincennes, though venerable by time and associations. The tower
itself will not compare with the donjon of Vincennes, its French
counterpart, and the adjuncts, are equally below those of the Tower
of Paris.

The collection of armour disappointed us greatly, being altogether
less interesting, than the fine specimens of the _musée de
l’artillerie_, near the church of St. Thomas d’Aquin; a museum of
whose existence nine Frenchmen in ten seem to be profoundly ignorant,
while it is one of the most curious things in Europe. Unfortunately,
some musty antiquarian has lately robbed the armour of the tower,
of all claims to be considered genuine, or as appertaining to the
persons of the great men, on whose effigies it is displayed, and
therein he has annihilated most of its interest. “Where ignorance is
bliss, ’tis folly to be wise.” I wish, with all my heart, the man had
not been half so learned, for, like a novel by Scott, or a play by
Shakspeare, in this case the fiction was probably more interesting,
than the reality. We ought not to quarrel with truth, however, since
there is little danger of our getting too much of it.

Of course, we looked at the regalia, but with little interest, for
it is not handsome, and I suspect most of the stones are false. The
precaution is used, of showing it by the light of a lamp. A crown,
notwithstanding, is a famous sight for the English multitude. I would
rather take, at random, one of the cases of precious articles, in
the Louvre, or at the _Jardins des Plantes_, than the imperial crown
of Great Britain. What between the Stuarts, and some of the later
princes, your _bonâ fide_ jewels must have been made of steel to
withstand their rapacity. Depend on it, had the crown been worth any
thing, James II. would have looked to it, although he ran away from
his kingdom.

There are some curious old implements of war, here; but, by no means
as many, or as rare, as in the collection at Paris. They showed us
the axe with which Anna Boleyn was beheaded, and, sure enough, it was
a weapon to make quick work of a “little neck.” I was most struck
with a sword or two, that I could not hold at arm’s length, and which
would really seem to demonstrate, that as our minds expand, our
bodies shrink. Will the day ever come when matter shall disappear
altogether, to give place to the ethereal essence of the spirit? The
sight of these swords, and of that of some of the armour, is the
first position proved, in demonstrating the existence of giants, and
where are they to-day?

I went to dine with —— ——, on our return. This gentleman had been
civil enough to send me two or three invitations, and I now went
a little out of my way to manifest a sense of his persevering
politeness. I was the first there; but a large party came pouring in
immediately after, not a soul of whom had I ever seen before. The
old Earl of ——, the Earl of ——, the son of the chief of the Irish
volunteers, and his wife, Lord ——, Sir —— ——, and many others were
announced, in quick succession. Finding it awkward to stand in a
crowd with no one to speak to, I looked at the pictures, of which the
house was full. While engaged in this way, a young man came up and
spoke to me. It was civil in him, for it appeared to me that he saw
I was a stranger; the only stranger in the party, and wished to be
polite accordingly. We conversed a few minutes, at a window, that was
a little removed from the rest of the company.

They have become punctual at London, and I do not think it was
fifteen minutes from the time I entered, before dinner was announced.
Each of the men took a lady, for there happened to be pretty nearly a
tie, and disappeared, leaving my companion and myself standing where
we were, by the window. He seemed uneasy, and I thought the movement,
a rare specimen of extreme delicacy of deportment. The only stranger,
and he old enough to be the father of some of the young men who had
dashed ahead of him, was left standing in the drawing-room, as if he
were a part of the furniture! I looked hard at my companion, to see
if he had the family physiognomy, but he had not, and then I ventured
to observe, “that if we were to dine with the rest of them, it might
not be amiss to follow.”

As we are endeavouring to trace national manners, I will relate
an anecdote that occurred just before I left Paris. Madame de ——
invited G—— to a great dinner, where he was the only stranger, with
the exception of an unexpected guest. That person happened to be
Count Capo d’Istrias, the president elect of Greece. Just before
dinner was announced, G—— removed to a little distance from the lady
of the house, for his invitation had been so worded as to give him
reason to think that the entertainment was a compliment to himself,
and he could not for an instant dream of preferring claims in
competition with M. Capo d’Istrias. Madame de —— took the arm of the
president elect, and walking towards him, she did him the favour to
present him to Mad. de Talleyrand, who was of the party, and whom he
had the honour of leading to the dinner table. These are trifles, but
they are just the trifles that mark the difference between the social
tact of London, and that of Paris.

I could not divest myself of the idea, that had I been any thing but
an American, this cutting neglect would not have occurred; and when
I found that precisely the lowest seat at the table was left for
me, I endeavoured to recall that passage in Holy Writ, where one is
directed to take the lowest place at a feast, as a course good for
the soul. Although we have no established religion in America, I will
be bold enough to say, that no one else, that day, bethought him of
this text.

My companion, after all, proved to be a connexion of the family,
for the seat, at the foot of the table, had been left for him. The
master of the house sat at the other end, and the mistress in the
centre, according to the French mode; so you will perceive I was
literally _in extremis_, at this banquet. So much care having been
taken of myself, I felt curious to see in what manner the others had
been provided for. A swarthy, dark-haired common-looking young man
sat on the right of the mistress of the house, while old Lord ——, who
was a full general in the army, occupied a more humble situation.
This young man was also a soldier, for I heard him talking of a
campaign he had made, but, by his years, he could not have been more
than a colonel, at most, if as high in the army. Of course he must
have been of a political or social rank higher than either of the two
earls, and this, in England, would give him precedence of his own
father! I believe he was the Duke of ——.

A handsome, well-mannered young man sat on my left. Indeed, our end
of the table was pretty much occupied by the boys, and I began to
apprehend a roasting on account of a few gray hairs that time is
scattering around my temples. They were well-behaved lads, however;
I suppose, on account of their being in parliament, as I found, by
the conversation, was the case with the whole of them. They had all
been rowing on the Thames, that morning, and as I had urged the oar
myself, in my time, we had at least something to talk about.

The black-haired dignitary gave an account of the death of some
officer, whom he had seen shot in battle. He had himself found the
body, after the affair; and, he added, “it had been stripped by the
French soldiers.”—“Why not by our own?” put in my young neighbour,
rather pithily. “Because I do not think any of ours had been near
it,” was the answer; but it sounded like an _arrière pensée_.

It appeared well on the part of my neighbour, to suggest the doubt,
and I fell into discourse with him. He had discovered that I was an
American, by a remark of my right-hand companion, who knew the fact,
and he soon began to speak of the difference in language between the
English and Americans. He told me he had just come from Paris, and
that, while strolling in the Palais Royal, he had been struck with
the pronunciation of three men, who were walking before him. Their
dialect was provincial, and he had been at a loss to discover from
what part of England they had come, when he ascertained, by their
discourse, they were Americans. I told him we had social _castes_
in America, as in England, though they were less strongly marked
than common; and that men, of course, betrayed their associations
in nothing sooner than in their modes of speech. He admitted the
justice of this distinction; but I question if he had ever before
thought of America, except as a jumble of a whole people in one
_omnium gatherum_. He made a remark that I felt to be just, and one
could wish it might be made in the ears of all those who concoct
the president’s and governors’ messages, of the critics, and of the
writers of the whole nation. He said he was struck with the manner in
which we used the word “our.” We did not say “America,” but “_our_
country,” “_our_ people,” “_our_ laws,” “_our_ this,” “_our_ that,”
“_our_ t’other.” I had been disagreeably impressed, myself, with
the same peculiarity, for it is clearly bad, since “_the_ country,”
“_the_ laws,” “_the_ institutions,” could mean no other than those of
the country in discussion, and would be in better taste. I did not
admit this, however, for I had been put at the foot of the table,
on account of that country, and one never receives scurvy treatment
even for a defect or a misfortune that cannot be helped, that he does
not begin to defend it. I told my young critic that it was all for
want of a name, the term “United States” being too long, and that
the institutions favoured the notion of a right of property in every
thing national. He acquiesced in the reasons, which no doubt are the
true ones, but he did not appear the more to admire the taste; an
opinion that, between ourselves, he entertains in common with some
others.

This young man amused me with the entire coolness with which he
complimented me on my English being as good as usual. These people
are so accustomed to think of us as inferiors, that the bad taste of
telling a man in society, “really, now, I do not see but you know how
to speak, or to use a fork, or to drink your wine, or to go through
the manual of polite life, quite as well as one of us,” never appears
to strike them. One gets a good many of these oblique compliments,
here. My young neighbour was modest, and sensible, but he made this
obvious blunder.

My brother statue began to speak of America, and his right-hand
neighbours listened a little too superciliously for men who had so
unceremoniously exalted themselves, and I longed for an opportunity
to let them understand whereabouts America lay, and the sort of
stuff of which she was made. Chance favoured me, for my neighbour
happened to express his apprehensions that the difficulties of
Europe might bring about a war, to which America would become a
party. “I trembled” he said, “the other day, when the Navarino
affair took place, for a war would compel us to impress; and then
America _might_ think fit to resent it.” I told him that impressment,
continued a week, out of American vessels, would undeniably
produce a war. “Why cannot the two governments amicably settle
the matter, by admitting a mutual, search in each other’s ships?”
“Such a privilege would be nominal as respects us, as we could not
profit by it; the institutions would forbid impressment.” “It is a
thousand pities the question cannot be settled.” “We hold it to be
settled, already, by the law of nations and common sense. The right
to impress is not an international but a municipal right, and,
of course, can be exercised legally only within the jurisdiction
of the nation using it. England has no more claim to follow her
seamen into our territory, than to follow her criminals. If we were
to send constables to London to arrest thieves, or on board ships
on the high seas, we should soon hear of it. Jurisdictions cannot
conflict, in this manner, or there is an end of the immunities of
national character.” “What is then to be done?” “You ask us to
concede a favour, and a high favour, that of subjecting the citizen
to impositions and trouble for your sole benefit. Now, I think a
scheme can be suggested by which the matter may be disposed of.” By
this time, every ear was pricked up, and attentive, I proceeded—“As
for permitting English officers to be the judges of the matter, it is
out of the question. We never can concede, and never ought to concede
that point. But give us a _quid pro quo_ and we may be induced to
pass laws that shall purge our shipping, as near as may be, of your
seamen.” “What could we offer?” “There is the island of Bermuda; you
hold it, solely, as a hostile port to be used against us; I think for
the peaceable possession of that island, our government would make
some sacrifice, and”—here I paused a moment, between a reluctance to
hurt my brother statue’s _amour propre_, and the recollection of my
own attitude on the pedestal, the latter prevailing—“and, by way of
inducement to make the arrangement you ought to remember that twenty
years hence, England will not be able to hold it.”[7]

The dose worked particularly well. Head went to head, until the idea
passed up the table, quite beyond the salt. I heard Lord E—— exclaim
“it is too bad!” I did not think it half as bad, however, as putting
a foot on the neck of a stranger, and, moreover, it was true.

The effect of the hint, was quickly apparent, for we were no sooner
in the drawing-room than I was approached by half a dozen lords, and
I dare say if the dinner were to be gone over again, the bearings and
distance from the salt would have been materially altered. I shook
the dust off my feet, in quitting that house.

I believe I have not told you an adventure at another house. This was
at a dinner given by a merchant; a man of the city, but who does not
live in the city, for the _cits_ are now fairly rooted in the west
end. When dinner was announced the master of the house formally bowed
to me, and mentioned my name. This is an invitation, all over the
world, to take the _pas_. I advanced accordingly, and offered my arm
to the lady; but she very cooly refused it, presenting me to a Mrs.
Somebody who sat by her, and took the arm[8] of some one else. As
this person certainly had no title, and was an Englishman, and much
younger than myself, I was at a loss to discover his claims. It would
have been better had the good man and his wife understood each other,
previously, for the effect was to make me appear _tant soit peu_
ridiculous.




LETTER XXII.

TO JACOB SUTHERLAND, ESQUIRE.


I have had a singular conversation with a foreigner. This person
is a cosmopolite, a —— by birth, who has lived much in England
and America, and our discourse had reference to the opinions and
expectations that prevail here concerning our own national character
and national destiny. As my companion had no doubts as to the manner
in which his communication would be received, he spoke without
reserve.

He commenced by saying that a very general impression existed in
England that the man of America was not equally gifted, in mind,
with the man of Europe. This is merely the old opinion continued
to our own times, and I was fully aware of its existence. Captain
Hall, when he says that there is _no want of natural ability_ in the
American people, but that their deficiencies proceed from defective
educations, is merely addressing his remark to this prejudice. Almost
every English traveller, who has written of the republic, betrays
the existence of the same notion, in some way or other. But it is
so easy for an American, who is not completely blinded by national
vanity, to ascertain these truths, by concealing his origin, while
travelling in the stage-coaches, that, to me, it is matter of
surprise any one who has visited England should be ignorant of them.

Almost every American, whose name reaches this country, in
consequence of its being connected with any thing that is thought
creditable, is incontinently claimed as an expatriated European.
You can have no notion of the extent to which this prejudice is
carried. I do assure you, that I have myself heard a respectable man,
here, affirm that, in one of the counties of England, he had been a
school-fellow of Washington, before the latter emigrated! Mr. Irving
figures in biographical notices here, as a native of Devonshire, and
even my own humble claims have not been overlooked, as by a sketch
of a pretended life, which now lies on my table, my origin is traced
to the Isle of Man, and in an elaborated sort of Blue Book, which
contains a list of English writers, I find myself enrolled among
men, who have far more reason to be ashamed of me, than I have to
be ashamed of them. I have been asked quite lately, if Macdonough
were not an Irishman, and I believe, my affirmation that poor
Allen, who was killed in the Argus, was an American, was absolutely
discredited. I met with an assertion, some time since, in one of the
journals here, that “Commodore Rodgers was a Scotch baker, of the
name of Gray!” The periodical publications of the day, are filled
with spurious histories of most of our distinguished men, during the
revolution, replete with the usual scurrility and untruths; and even
the last war, brought with it, the same touches of amiable veracity.

The national prejudices of England, are freely commented on, by all
other people. Prejudice, however, belongs to man, rather than to
communities, and I am inclined to think France has almost as many
as this country, though they are of a different quality, and are
infinitely better cloaked. In making this comparison, I always except
the subject of America, for that is a point on which an Englishman
usually ceases altogether, to be either just, or discerning.

One of the traits which the English attribute to us, is a greater
disposition than common to lie. I have no hesitation in saying, that
this nation deems our own, addicted to this vice, altogether out
of the ordinary way. On this point, there can be no mistake, for
Captain Hall, Mr. De Roos, and several other recent writers, even by
exonerating us from the charge, betray its existence; but we have
high clerical authority for it, that will settle the matter. I quote
Bishop Heber; he is speaking of the American sailors. “They are
not so grievously addicted to lying, as they were once said to be.
_They have less animosity against the English than formerly, and
their character seems to have recovered its natural English tone._”
Dr. Heber might have been puzzled to explain, in what the _natural_
English character differs from any other, on principles that would
harmonize with the thirty-nine articles, of which, I believe, we
possess a tolerably accurate copy, in our own church. But, putting
orthodoxy out of the question, and not descending to a too rigid
construction of words, how was this notion of the American people,
and especially of their seamen, obtained? I think, I can explain it.

The English were accustomed to consider themselves the most skilful
mariners of the earth. When their American competitors boasted of
their own ships, that they could outsail those of England, and that
their general qualities were better, verifying all by alleged facts,
the latter, as a matter of course, were deemed lies. Were a hundred
English ship-masters to assert to-day, that their vessels could
outsail ours, the American seamen would have no more charity, but, at
once, set them down as dealers in fiction. During the long wars, our
shipping was the prey of the belligerents, the English, as the most
numerous, doing it the most harm; vexing commerce, by impressing the
seamen, and as often carrying off the native, as their own subjects.
These acts created a bitter feeling, and the American government,
influenced by a miserable penny-saving policy, which cost more in
the end, than a prompt resistance, almost abandoned the seamen to
themselves; writing long diplomatic notes, instead of arming. I
know, by personal observation, that many of our ship-masters of that
day, boasted they had mislead English squadrons and cruizers, by
false information, for it was the only means they had, of avenging
themselves.

Conversing with Mr. ——, he informed me that, for some time, an
acquaintance of ours, a captain in the British navy, was supposed to
have been killed in the attack on Fort Bowyer. On my asking how the
information had been obtained, he quite unconsciously answered—“Oh!
it was only the report of an American captain.” I laughed at him,
for this confession, and he frankly admitted an opinion prevailed in
England, that the American ship-masters were greater liars than usual.

Our facts are astounding, and, when related, appear marvellous to
foreigners. _Au reste_, the Americans, more particularly those of
New England, are a gossipping people, and though the gossip may not
be a liar, he necessarily circulates much untruth. In this manner,
the American lies with his tongue, while the rest of the world lie
only in their thoughts. But lying is one of the commonest vices of
humanity.

It is fortunate that Providence has reserved us for the justice of
another state of being, for, it is certain, there is very little in
this. Here is a nation, that, if a civil agent of its own, arrest
John Doe, for Richard Roe, punishes him severely, throwing the
_onus_ of the proof of guilt, on the minister of the law, but which
goes out of its own jurisdiction, to demand of foreigners proofs of
innocence; failing of which, it lays violent hands on them, exposes
them to mutilation and death, in a quarrel in which they have no
concern, and then vilifies them, by way of atonement! This is bad
enough, certainly, but it is, by no means, the worst feature in the
affair. Men, in the condition of gentlemen, have been found among the
oppressed, to justify the wrong, for you and I are both old enough,
distinctly to remember the time, when England was loudly and openly
vindicated by a party, at home, in a course that set all national
honour, and national justice at defiance. It is said, that the world
presents nothing new; that all its current incidents are merely new
phases of old events; but, really, it sometimes seems to me, that
the history of man has never before presented so strong an instance
of national abasement, as is to be found in the feelings, language,
reasoning, and acts of a very large portion of what are called the
better classes of the American people, towards Great Britain. Of
all burthens, that of the mental dependance created by colonial
subserviency, appears to be the most difficult to remove. It weighs
upon us yet, like an incubus, and, apart from matters of gain, in
which we have all our eyes about us, and apart from party politics,
in which men will “follow their leaders, though it be to the
devil,” there is not an American, in my opinion, at this moment, of
sufficient note fairly to attract foreign comment, who does not hold
his reputation at home, entirely at the mercy of Great Britain. We
do not see this fact ourselves, but strangers do, and deride us for
the weakness. We have, indeed, reason to thank God, that the portion
of the nation, which constitutes its bone and muscle, although of no
account in its floating opinions, is so purely practical, so stubborn
in its nationality, so right-thinking, at least, in the matters
that come properly and fairly before it, and so little likely to be
influenced to its destruction!

Another of the notions that exists in England, is that of the
hostility of America to Great Britain. All the recent travellers
among us, frankly admit that they see no evidence of such a feeling,
but of one quite to the contrary. I have frequently told my friends
here, that, in my opinion, and it is an opinion formed from a good
deal of observation, _in no other country are the English looked upon
with as friendly eyes, as in the United States of America_. I feel
as certain of this fact, as I do of any other moral truth at which
I believe myself to have arrived by investigation and travelling. I
do not think that I have succeeded, however, in convincing a single
individual.

A few of the public writers here, affect to maintain that there is
no general inimical sentiment, or prejudice in England, against the
United States, with the Edinburgh Review at their head. It might
as well be denied that the sun appears in the east, and sets in the
west. The feeling is as apparent as the day; it mingles with every
thought, colours every concession, and even tempers the charities.
Every American established in the country asserts it, all travellers
believe it, even Captain Hall and other writers confess it, and four
out of five, on the spot, when circumstances induce frankness, admit
it. Let us look for the reasons of these contradictory feelings, in
the two nations.

In the collisions between the two people, in the main, America has
won and England has lost. The winner is usually complacent, the loser
soured. In America facts have preceded opinion, and so far from
their being a tendency to aid the first by appeals to prejudices,
the disposition has been to retard them by comparisons favourable to
the old system. The very opposite of this state of things exists in
England. Power, in America, has nothing to apprehend from English
example, while power, in England, has much to apprehend from the
example of America. This reason applies with peculiar force to
the church in England, which ought to be the first to foster the
charities. It is natural for a young people to look back with
affection to their ancestry, and to the country from which they
sprung, and it is human for those in possession of advantages that
once were exclusive, to look forward with distrust to the fortunes of
a vigorous competitor that has arisen from their own stock.

These reasons might suffice, but there are others, which, though less
evident, have perhaps been more active in producing the unfriendly
feeling in England. In this country, it should always be remembered,
there is a contradiction between the theory of the government and
its facts. By the first the sovereign possesses an authority, that
is denied him in practice. No well-informed man really thinks that
the King of England, of his own free will, could declare war, for
instance, and yet the commentators will tell you he may. In curbing
his authority, the aristocracy is compelled to keep in view the
nation, and the principal means that have been resorted to for
influencing it, have been to act on its prejudices. Nothing has
struck me more forcibly, here, than the manner in which the higher
classes keep themselves free from the national prejudices, that
their organs, the press, studiously excite in the mass. This is
said without any reference to America, however, for the aristocracy
certainly likes _us_ as little as any portion of the community, and
without alluding to the mere difference that always exists between
knowledge and ignorance, but to notions, which if true, ought to be
found more general among the instructed, than among the ignorant.

I perceive that Capt. Hall lays much stress on the loyalty of
the English, as a healthful sentiment that is quite unknown in
America. He has not attached too much importance to this feeling,
in my judgment, though he has scarcely analysed it with sufficient
penetration. This loyalty is a pure abstraction in England, on
which, by dint of management, the self love of the nation has been
concentrated. It is national pride, interest, and national prejudice,
to all of which this direction has been given, so far as they
are connected with sentiment, for to say that the usual personal
attachment has any thing to do with it, in regard to a monarch whom
his people have quietly seen stripped, one by one, of the free
exercise of all his prerogatives involves an absurdity. No one is
more loyal in England, than the Duke who is acquiring boroughs,
with a view to return members whose principal duty will be to vote
down and curb the royal authority. Such a man, it is true, declaims
against disloyalty as a crime; he defends the prerogative both in
person and by his nominees; but then he takes good care that it shall
be exercised by a minister, whom he has an agency in creating, and
with whom he can make his own terms. It would not do to transfer this
sentiment from him who has not, to those who actually wield the power
of the state, and who are compelled to live so much before the common
eye, for there are too many of them; they are unsupported by the
prejudice of birth, and familiarity would soon destroy the portion of
the feeling that is the most useful.[9] The force of this fiction,
loyalty (it is purely fiction, as it relates to the individual), is
inconceivably strong; for I question if the English, after their own
fashion, are not the most loyal people in Europe. Their feelings, in
this particular, give one good reason to doubt whether men will not
defer more to an abstraction, than to a reality.

Another of the prejudices of the English arises from the devotedness
of the faith with which they subscribe to the fictions of their own
system. In no other country is society so socially drilled. Lord
—— observed to me, “England is a pyramid, in which every man has
his place, and of which the king forms the point.” The remark has
some truth in it, but the peer overlooked the essential fact, that
where the summit ought to be the base of his pyramid is. This social
drilling, however, like almost every thing else, has its advantages
and its disadvantages. The better soldier you make of a man the more
he becomes disqualified to be any thing else. You have no notion
of the extent to which the ethics of station are carried, in this
country; being probably quite as much beyond the point of reason
and manliness, in one extreme, as the canting of the press, and the
brawls of low party politicians are driving it to the other, with us.
I have seen a footman’s manual, in which, besides the explanations of
active duties, the whole _morale_ of his station, is set before the
student, with great precision and solemnity. It is a sort of social
catechism. So effectually has the system of drill been pursued, that
I firmly believe, a majority of Englishmen, at this moment, attach
an idea of immorality, to any serious effort to alter the phases of
society. It is deemed social treason, and like other treason, the
notion of crime is connected with it. The benefits of this drilling,
are great order, with perfect seemliness and method, in conducting
the affairs of life; the defects, the substitution of artificial
for the natural links of society, form for feeling, and the inward
festering of the mind, which, sooner or later, will be certain to
break out on the surface, and disfigure, if it do not destroy, the
body politic. There is no comparison between the _finish_ of an
English, and that of a French servant, for instance, as regards the
thousand little details of duty. One is as much superior to the
other, as an English is superior to a French knife. But, when it
comes to feeling, the advantage is all the other way. The English
servant will not bear familiarity, scarcely kindness: the Frenchman
will hardly dispense with both. To the first you never speak, unless
to order; the latter is treated as an humble friend. The revolution
in France, has shown instances of devotedness and affection, in
consequence, that no revolution in England will ever be likely to see
equalled.

One of the effects of the prejudices of the country, is to supercede
facts and reasoning, by a set of dogmatical inferences, which the
Englishman receives quite as a matter of course, and as beyond
discussion. I could give you a hundred examples of what I mean, but a
recent instance shall suffice.

In a discussion with the conductor of a periodical work, who is
friendly to America, I have had occasion to note the following errors
in relation to ourselves. Speaking of the expedition of Captain Parry
to the north, he bestows very merited encomiums on the conduct of
the crews, which he attributes to their good training, as Englishmen.
By way of illustrating the difference between such a system, and
one that may, with great justice, pass for its converse, he gave an
account of an exploring expedition sent out by the government of the
United States, to the Pacific Ocean, in which the men had put their
officers on shore, and had gone a sealing! You are to understand,
that my acquaintance had been pressing me to contribute to his work,
with the object of correcting the erroneous notions, which prevail in
England, in regard to America.

“Here, said I, is an instance of the sweeping deductions that you
form. You imagine a fact, and directly in the teeth of testimony, go
to work to produce your inferences. The United States never sent an
expedition of the sort any where, and, of course, no such occurrence
could have taken place. Now, as to the principle, I may speak from
some personal knowledge, and I tell you that, according to my
experience, the English seamen are much the most turbulent, and the
Americans much the most tractable, and the least likely to violate
law, of any with whom I have ever had any thing to do. In point of
fact, the officers of no American cruizer, ever lost the command of
their vessel, for an hour, or, perhaps I might say, a minute, though
two or three slight instances of insubordination did occur, under
the old laws, and when the terms of service of the men were legally
up; but, owing to the spirit of the officers, and the habits of
subordination in the crews, in every one of even these instances,
the resistance was immediately quelled. What is the other side of the
picture? Did not the crews of several English vessels, murder their
officers, and run away with the ships, during the last war? There
are the cases of the Hermione, and the Bounty, for instance, and
this assertion of yours is made in face of the notorious historical
fact, that, within the memory of man, the British empire was made to
tremble to its centre, by the mutiny of the Nore!”

I believe my acquaintance was struck with this representation, and
I expected to see an explanation in his work, but the next number
contained a paragraph, which deprecated the admission of matter that
conflicted with the _national prejudices_!

So far as mere manner is concerned, the English drilling produces
better results, in every day life, than our own _pêle mêle_. A
good portion of the _grossieretè_, at home, is for the want of the
condensed class of well-bred people, of which I have so often spoken,
and the moral cowardice of men, who have too often ardent longings
for the glitter of life, without the manliness to enforce its
decencies.[10] Could the two nations meet half way, in this respect,
both would be essentially gainers, we in appearances, and in the
decencies connected with manner, and the English in the more kindly
feelings, and in security. There is undeniably, a cant obtaining the
ascendancy at home, that is destructive of all manner, in conducting
the ordinary relations of life, and which is not free from danger,
as it confounds the substance of things with their shadow. Democracy
has no necessary connexion with vulgarity, but it merely means that
men shall have equal political rights. There can be no greater
fallacy than to say, one man is as good as another, in all things.
In the eye of God, men are equal, and happy is the country, in which
it is not dangerous to declare, also, that they shall be perfectly
equal in all their legal privileges. But beyond this, the principle
cannot be carried, and civilization maintained. One man has higher
tastes, more learning, better principles, more strength, more beauty,
and greater natural abilities, than another. I take it, that human
institutions, are intended to prevent him, who is the most powerful;
in consequence of the possession of these advantages, from injuring
him who is weaker. The relations between master and servant, are not
all affected thereby, and he who submits to labour for hire, under
the directions of an employer serves, while the other commands.
These duties may be conducted with too little, as well as too much
deference of manner. The tendency in civilized society, is always
toward the latter, when the usual proportions between surface and
population are obtained, for it is a consequence of the pressure of
society, and there is little fear that we shall not get our share of
it, in time; though, _en attendant_, we find occasional instances, in
which the individual mistakes insolence, for independence. Perhaps,
after all, _insolence_ is too strong a word. I think, I have met
more pure insolence from Englishmen in low situations, than from
Americans; it is the natural consequence of reaction; though it is
rare, indeed, to meet with the same deference from the last, as from
the first. Assemble, in any reasonable space in America, a dozen
genteel families, and they will, of their own influence, create an
atmosphere of decency, about them, that shall contain all that is
really desirable, in this respect. The inherent sense of right, which
is implanted in every man by nature, and which becomes conscience
in moral things, may be safely confided in, as the surest means of
regulating the deportment of the different castes of society, towards
each other.

There is a very general notion prevalent in England, that we seized
a moment to declare war against them, when they were pressed upon
hardest, by the rest of Europe. A portion of their antipathy is
owing to this idea, though the idea itself is altogether owing to
their prejudices against America, for there is not a particle of
truth in it. I do not remember to have conversed on the subject,
with any Englishman, who did not betray this feeling. It is of
no consequence, that dates disprove the fact. America declared
war, on the 18th of June, 1812, after twenty years of submission
to impressment, and illegal captures, and at a moment when the
government was put in possession of proof of an effort, on the
part of England, to dissolve the Union, as well as of her fixed
determination, not to alter her Orders in Council. As respects the
latter, history gives all the necessary evidence of the expediency of
the war, for it had not been declared three months, when the British
government offered to do, what it had just before officially affirmed
it would not do. In June 1812, Spain and Portugal were in arms, on
the side of England, Russia and Sweden, were secretly preparing to
join her, and that great effort which finally broke down the power
of France, was just about to commence. But in the face of all these
facts, the opinion I have mentioned, certainly exists.

The English have been persuaded that a religious establishment is
indispensable to religion. As regards the establishments of Italy,
France, Spain, Turkey, and all the rest of the world, they are ready
enough to admit that there are capital faults, connected with the
several religious systems, but having got the truth themselves, it is
expedient to fortify it with legal and exclusive advantages. Of all
the profane blasphemies the world has witnessed, that of prostituting
the meek doctrines of Christ, by pampering his professed ministers
with riches and honours, under the hollow pretence of upholding his
faith, is the most insulting to evident truths, and offensive to
humility. Such are the fruits of establishments, and of enlisting
religion in the support of temporal political systems. Good men _may_
prosper, even under these disadvantages, but bad men _will_. It is a
device of the devil, if that fallen angel is, at all, permitted to
meddle with spiritual things.

As we have no establishment, it is the prevalent opinion, here, that
we have no religion. Several intelligent English, have confessed
this much to me; an admission that was not at all necessary, for I
detected the prejudice, before I had been a month in the country:
and one person has actually appealed to me for facts, with a view to
repel the arguments of those who uphold the present state of things;
since it is assumed, that the actual condition of America, is a proof
of the necessity of a religious establishment, in the interests of
order and morality. My answer was, “that were the upper classes of
the English, to be placed in America, with their present habits
and notions, there is not one of them in a hundred, who would not
immediately begin to declaim against the religious fanaticisms and
exaggeration of the country!” This reply, I believe, to contain the
truth. There is an exterior affectation of a deference for spiritual
things, here, among people of condition, that does not always, or
rather so universally exist with us; for, the government being an
aristocracy, and the establishment enlisted in its support, it would
be a singular indiscretion, in times like these, for those who reap
the peculiar advantages of the existing order of things, to neglect
so powerful an ally. Some of these persons, often remind me of that
anecdote of the English sailor, who, falling into the hands of the
Turks, was urged to become a mussulman—“What, change my religion?
No, d—n my eyes, never.” The religious _tone_ of a community, is
best ascertained through its facts. Since I have been in Europe, the
following circumstances, among many others of a similar character,
have come under my eye.

A duel was fought at Boulogne in France, between the Rev. —— ——,
and Mr. ——; the former was attended by his brother, the Rev. —— ——.
Both the reverend gentlemen were ordained clergymen of the church of
England, and the latter was said to be married to the daughter of a
bishop.

A complainant appeared before a London magistrate, in the case of an
assault. The defendant justified himself, by saying, “that he was
driving a gig, with a female; that the complainant passed him on
horseback repeatedly, and insulted his companion, by staring under
her hat; whereupon he horsewhipped the offender.” “You handed this
card to your assailant?” said the magistrate, to the complainant. “I
did.” “With what intention?” “As is usual among gentlemen, when an
outrage like this has been committed.” “One corner of the card is
torn off—why did you tear it off!” “_Because I am in the church_,
sir, and I thought the _‘Rev.’ misplaced on such an occasion_.” The
substance of this statement, with the names of the parties, has
appeared in the police reports, during my visit here.

“The Rev. Mr. O——, fought Mr. ——, at Boulogne, quite recently, the
reverend gentleman hitting his man.”

There is, no doubt, much vice among the clergy every where, for
they are frail, like all of us. Probably the vicious men in the
church of England, are not at all more numerous, than those of every
established church necessarily must be, with the temptations to
enter it for the possession of rich livings. But what I wish to lay
before you, is a comparison between England and America on these
points. I think, it would be hard to find a layman in all America,
who would fight a clergyman; much less a clergyman who would openly
fight a duel. If “hypocrisy be the homage which vice pays to virtue,”
the inference is fair, that a public sentiment in America, keeps a
clergyman in closer bounds, than he would be kept in England.

It is denying the effects of the most common natural influences, to
pretend that a church, whose avenues lead to vast wealth, and to
the highest rank in the state, is as likely to be as pure in its
ministers, as one which offers less temporal inducements than any one
of all the liberal occupations of life. If it be contended that an
establishment is indispensable to religion, it must be confessed that
its advantages are to be taken with this essential drawback. It is
a notorious fact, that sons are set aside for the church here when
children, in order that they may receive particular livings, in the
gift of the family, or its friends, or that their fortunes may be
pushed in it, by family influence. Nothing of the sort exists with us.

Lord ——, at a dinner in his own house, observed to me, that the
best thing we had in America was our freedom from the weight of
a religious establishment. Encouraged by this remark, I told an
anecdote of a conversation I had once overheard in America. It was
while making a passage in a sloop, on the coast, with two young
whalers, just returned from sea, as fellow-passengers. A gentleman on
board asked me what had become of young Napoleon, then a boy of ten
or twelve years. I answered, there was a report that the Austrians
were educating him for the church. My two whalers listened intently
to this conversation, in which the tender years of the child had been
mentioned, when one of them suddenly exclaimed to the other—“Did you
hear that, Ben? Bringing a parson _up by hand_!”—“Ay, ay; making a
_cosset_-priest!”

I was much amused by the point and sarcasm of these remarks, and
every American will feel why; but, I was more so, I think, by the
manner in which my English auditors received the anecdote. I do
not think one of them felt its point; but as the Sag-Harbour-men
used agricultural figures to illustrate their meaning, I was at
once applied to, to know whether such people could be more than
half-seamen, and whether America could supply mariners sufficient to
become a great naval power!

A lady, here, with whom I am on sufficiently friendly terms to
converse freely, was speaking of the son of a noble family, a near
connexion of hers, who is in the church. “It is very unpleasant,”
she said, “to find one whom you esteem, getting to be wrong-headed
in such matters. Now —— was becoming quite serious, and a little
fanatical, and I was employed by the family to speak to him!” This
——, is a clergyman whose piety has been highly extolled by one of our
bishops, and whose devotion to the Redeemer is thought, at home, to
be highly creditable to the English aristocracy. So far as he himself
is concerned, all this is well enough; but as to the manner in which
“the nobility and gentry,” of his connexion, regard his course, you
have sufficient proof in what I have just told you.

I shall dismiss this part of the subject as unpleasant to myself. The
Church of England, so far as its religious dogmas are concerned, is
that in which I was educated, and in which I am training my children;
and no one is more sensible of its excellencies, when they are
separated from its abuses. I should have been silent, altogether, on
its defects, but I feel convinced that a grasping, worldly spirit,
has made it an instrument, in the hands of artful or prejudiced men,
of defaming a state of society which is probably as exempt from its
own peculiar vices, as it ever fell to the lot of men to be.

Another notion deeply rooted in the English mind, is a strange
opinion, that all men of _liberal_ education and gentlemanly habits,
must, of necessity, be hostile to popular rights, and, by the same
necessity, advocates of some such liberty as their own, if the
advocates of any liberty at all. One of the first things that the
clerical critic, on the well-known sermon of Bishop Hobart, remarks,
is his surprise that a man of “gentlemanly habits” should have
taken such a view of matters! There is, unquestionably, a strong
disposition in men, who do not look beyond the exterior of things,
(and this, perhaps, embraces the majority,) to confound “taste” with
“principles.” There are many things in which the results of the
English system are more agreeable to my tastes, and even my habits,
than those of our own, though I believe ours will be eventually
softened by the pressure of society; but, it does not strike me that
this is a sufficient reason, why an honest man should overlook more
essential points. One cannot have the thorough, social drilling of
a government of exclusion, and escape its other consequences. All
power that is not based on the mass, must repress the energies and
moral improvement of that mass for its own security, and the fruits
are the vast chasm which exists every where, in Europe, between the
extremes of society.

I shall say little of the mere vulgar prejudices, which piously
believe in the inherent superiority, moral and physical, of
Englishmen over all the rest of mankind; for something very like it
is to be found in all nations. Still, I think, the prejudices of
England, in this respect, are more than usually offensive to other
people, as, I believe, are our own. Those of England, however,
are to be distinguished from those of America, in one important
particular. The common Englishman cannot believe himself superior
to his transatlantic kinsman, with a whit more sincerity, than the
feeling is returned by the common American. But, while the Englishman
of the upper classes thinks lightly of the American, the American of
the upper classes over-estimates the Englishman. There are doubtless
many exceptions, in both cases, especially among those who have
travelled; but such, I think, is the rule. Our own weakness is a
natural consequence of a colonial origin, of reading English books,
and of the exaggerations of distance and dependency. It is a weakness
that is seen and commented on, by every body but those who feel it.

I question if the inbred and overweening notion of personal
superiority ascends as high in the social scale, or is as general
among people of education, in any other community, as in England. In
this respect, we are deficient rather than exaggerated; for while
all America (I now speak of the upper classes, you will remember)
can be thrown into a fever, by an intimation that our _things_
are not as good as those of other nations, there is a secret and
general distrust of our equality on the points that alone can give
dignity and character to man. A friend of yours has been accused of
national vanity, and national conceit, (an odd charge, by the way,
for I question if there is a man in the whole republic who prides
himself less in the national character, than the person in question,)
because he has endeavoured to repel and refute some of the grosser
imputations that artifice and prejudice, in this quarter of the
world, have been studiously and industriously heaping on us; and the
simple circumstance that, in so doing, he has conflicted a little
with English supremacy, has been the means of destroying whatever
favour he may once have possessed with the American _reading_ public,
as a writer; for England, at this moment, holds completely at her
mercy the reputation and character of every American she may choose
to assail, who is not supported by the _bulk_ of his own nation. As
a matter of course, she writes up all who defer to her power, and
writes down all who resist it. The statements of your friend have
been publicly derided, because they have affirmed the rights and
merits of the _mass_, on which alone we are to ground all our claims
to comparative excellence; and I now ask you, if, in any review,
comment, or speech, at home, you have ever met with the sweeping
assertions of an _abstract_, _innate_ national superiority, that is
contained in the following paragraph.

“It would be in vain to inquire whether this superiority, which we do
not hesitate to say has been made manifest, with very few exceptions,
whenever the British have met foreign troops upon equal terms, arises
from a stronger conformation of body, or a more determined turn of
mind; but it seems certain that the British soldier, inferior to
Frenchmen in general intelligence, and in individual acquaintance
with the trade of war, has a decided advantage in the bloody shock of
actual conflict, and especially when maintained by the bayonet, body
to body. _It is remarkable also, that the charm is not peculiar to
any one of the three united nations, but it is common to the natives
of all, different as they are in habits and education._ The guards,
supplied by the city of London, may be contrasted with a regiment of
Irish recruited among their rich meadows, or a body of Scotch, from
their native wildernesses; and while it may be difficult to assign
the palm to either over the other two, all are found to exhibit that
species of dogged and desperate courage, _which without staying
to measure force or calculate chances, rushes on the enemy as the
bull-dog upon the bear_.”

Lest you should think I have rummaged one of the productions of
the Minerva Press, for some of its inflations, it may be well to
explain, that this quiet, deeply-seated _naïve_ proof of ignorance
and prejudice, is quoted from Sir Walter Scott’s account of the
battle of Maida, in the Life of Napoleon. We are justly enough deemed
conceited, but our literature contains nothing to compare with this.
I have cited this instance of prejudice, in order to prove how high
the weakness of believing in the personal superiority of their own
people, ascends in the scale of intellect, for I have no doubt, that
Sir Walter Scott religiously believed all he wrote.

The exhibition of many of the prejudices of the English, are not
always restrained by propriety, even among those who ought to know
better.[11] Of this, all foreigners complain, and I think, with
reason. As respects us, there is a quiet assumption of superiority,
that has the appearance of an established right to comment on the
nation, its character, and its institutions. There is a mode of doing
this, which removes all objections, among men of the world, but there
is, also, a mode which amounts to positive personal disrespect.

Of the latter class, is an occurrence that took place at the table of
Lord ——, quite lately. One of the guests very quietly went to work,
without preface of any sort, to prove, that the improper deportment
of the members of congress, as compared with those of parliament, was
owing to a want of refinement in the nation! I met him at once (for
I never witnessed in the society of gentlemen, a greater instance of
personal indecorum,) by denying his premises. Seriously, I believe,
of the two, congress is better mannered than parliament, though there
is less mystification; all that has been written to the contrary,
being founded rather on what ought to be, according to certain
notions, than on what is.

Whenever I meet with this disposition, it chills all my sympathies.
I hope I can be just to such men, but I can never like them. What
renders these unfeeling and ignorant comments less inexcusable, is
the fact, that any attempt to turn the tables, is instantly met
with a silence that cannot be misconstrued. Surprised to find the
depth, and universality of prejudice against America, here, as well
as the freedom with which remarks are made, I determined to try the
experiment of retorting in kind. In most instances, I have found
that they who were willing to talk all night, on the defects of
America, become mum, the instant there is an allusion to any similar
weaknesses in England, or in English character. As there can be
no wish to keep up acquaintances, on such terms, I have generally
dropped them; always unless I have seen that the prejudice is
sincere, and acting on a benevolent nature. I presume the history of
the world, cannot offer another instance of prejudice in one nation
against another, that is as strong and as general, as that which,
at this moment, exists in England against America; the community
of language, and the art of printing, having been the means of
provoking, rather than of mitigating the failing.

Although prejudice must result in ultimate evil, it may measurably
produce intermediate good. The prejudices of England are at the base
of the nationality of her people. With us the _people_ are national,
from affection, and a consciousness of living under a system
that protects their rights and interests. But true nationality is
very much confined to the mass, though national conceit is pretty
generally diffused. No man in America, can have national pride,
(the ground-work of all true nationality,) who has not pride in the
institutions; and this is a feeling that all the training of the
higher classes has taught them to repress. Our social aristocracy,
in this respect, are a mere reflection of the commoner English
prejudices—prejudices that are received ignorantly, in pure faith,
and as the stone admits water by constant dropping. A more impudent
piece of literary empiricism has never been palmed on the world, than
the pretension that the American reading public requires American
themes; it may require American _things_, to a certain extent,
though its quite natural and perhaps excusable that it should prefer
foreign, which I believe to be the real fact; but as to distinctive
American _sentiments_ and American _principles_, the majority of that
class of our citizens, hardly know them when they see them. A more
wrong-headed and deluded people there is not, on earth, than our own,
on all such subjects, and one would be almost content to take some of
the English prejudices, if more manliness and discrimination could be
had with them. Our faults of this nature, are the results of origin
and geographical position; those of England are the results of time,
power, artifice, and peculiar political and physical advantage.

All great nations are egotistical, and deluded on the subject of
their superiority. The constant influence of an active corps of
writers, (who from position become so many popular flatterers,)
acting on the facts of a strong community, has a tendency to induce
men to transfer the credit that is only due to collective power, to
national character and personal qualities. The history of the world
proves that the citizens of small states have performed more great
and illustrious personal acts, and out of all proportion to numbers,
than the citizens of great nations, and the reason is probably to
be found in the greater necessities of their condition; but, fewer
feeling an interest in extolling their deeds, it is not common for
them to reap the glory that falls to the share of even the less
deserving servitors of a powerful community.

I shall close this brief summary of national peculiarities, by
an allusion to one more. Foreigners accuse the English of being
capricious in their ordinary intercourse. They are allowed to be
fast friends, but uncertain acquaintances. The man, or woman, who
receives you to-day with a frank smile, and a familiar shake of the
hand, may meet you to-morrow coldly, and with a chilling or repulsive
formality. I have seen something of this, and believe the charge,
in a degree, to be merited. They are formalists in manners, and too
often mistake the spirit that ought to regulate intercourse. Jonathan
stands these caprices better than any one else, for he is so devout
a believer that he sees smiles in his idol, when other people see
grimaces. Your true American _doctrinaire_ studies the book which
John Bull has published concerning his own merits, with some such
faith as old women look into the almanac in order to know when it
will snow.[12]




LETTER XXIII.

HENRY FLOYD-JONES, ESQ., FORT NECK.


Our connexion, Mr. McAdam,[13] who resides in Hertfordshire, has just
taken me with him to his house.

It was something to find myself on an English high-way, seated by
the side of the man who had done so much for the kingdom, in this
respect. We travelled in an open gig, for my companion had an eye to
every displaced stone, or inequality in the surface. The system of
roads, here, is as bad as can be; the whole country being divided
into small “trusts,” as they are called, in a way to prevent any one
great and continued plan. I should say we went through four or five
gates, absolutely within the limits of the town; obstacles, however,
that probably still exist, on account of the great growth of London.
Although Mr. McAdam had no connexion with the “trusts” about London,
we passed all the gates without contribution, in virtue of his name.

We had much conversation on the subject of roads. On my mentioning
that I had found some of them much better than others, a few, indeed,
being no better than very many of our own, Mr. McAdam told me that
there was a want of material in many parts of England, which had
compelled them to have recourse to gravel. “Now,” said he, “the
_metal_ of this very road on which we are travelling, came from the
East Indies!” The explanation was sufficiently simple; stone had
been brought into the India docks, as ballast, and hauled thence, a
distance of several miles, to make the bed of the road we were on.
Gravel-pits are common in England; and there is one open, at this
moment, in Hyde Park, that is a blot on its verdure.

We took the road into Hertfordshire, which is the great northern
high-way, as well as being the scene of John Gilpin’s race. We passed
the “Bell, at Edmonton,” where there is now a sign in commemoration
of John’s speed, and bottom, and wig. By the way, the coachmen have a
more classical authority for the flaxens than I had thought.

Waltham cross was an object of still greater interest. Edward I.
caused these crosses to be erected on the different spots where the
body of his wife reposed, in its funeral-journey from Milford Haven,
to London. Charing-cross, in the town itself, was the last of them.
They are little gothic structures, with niches to receive statues,
and are surmounted by crosses, forming quaint and interesting
memorials. I believe we passed two of them between London and
Hoddesdon, by which it would seem that the body of the queen made
short stages. The cross at Charing has entirely disappeared.

At Hoddesdon, we were on the borders of Essex, and the day after our
arrival, Mr. McAdam walked with me across the bridge that separates
the two counties, to look at Rye-house, the place so celebrated as
the spot where the attempt was to have been made on the life of
Charles II. The intention was to fire on the king, as he returned
from Newmarket, on his way to London. The building is certainly well
placed for such an object, as it almost projects into the road,
which, just here, is quite narrow, and which it enfilades in such
a way, that a volley fired from its windows would have been pretty
certain to rake the whole of the royal _cortège_. The house, itself,
is a common brick farm building, somewhat quaint, particularly about
the chimneys, and by no means large. I suspect a part of it has
disappeared. It is now used as a poor-house, and, certainly, if it is
to be taken as a specimen of the English poor-houses, in general, it
is highly creditable to the nation. Nothing could be neater, and the
inmates were few.

The land, around this place, was low and level, and quite devoid of
landscape beauty. I was told there is evidence that the Danes, in one
of their invasions, once landed near this spot, though the distance
to the sea cannot now be less than twenty miles! Mr. Malthus has
overlooked the growth of the island, in his comparative estimates of
the increase of the population.

Some boys were fishing on the bridge, near Rye-house, wearing a
sort of uniform, and my companion told me they were cadets studying
for the East India civil service, in an institution near by. The
New-river, which furnishes so much water to London, flows by this
spot, also; and, in returning, we walked some distance on its banks.
It is not much larger than a race-way, nor was its current very
swift. If this artificial stream can even wash the hands and faces of
the cockneys, the Croton ought to overflow New York.

Hoddesdon was selected as a residence, by several of the American
emigrant families, that were driven from their own country, and
lost their estates, by the revolution. Its comparative cheapness
and proximity to London, must have been its recommendation, as
neither the place itself, nor the surrounding country, struck me
as particularly attractive. The confiscations were peculiarly hard
on individuals; and in some instances they were unmerited, even in
a political point of view; but if it be true, as has lately been
asserted, that the British ministry brought about the struggle
under the expectation of being able easily to subdue the colonists,
and with a view to provide for their friends by confiscations on
the other side, retributive justice did its usual office. The real
history of political events, would scarcely bare the light, in any
country.

If any American wishes to hear both sides of the great contest
between the colonies and the mother country, I would recommend a
short sojourn in one of the places where these emigrants have left
their traditions. He will there find that names which he has been
taught to reverence are held in hereditary abhorrence; that his
heroes are other people’s knaves, and other people’s prodigies his
rogues. There is, in all this, quite probably, the usual admixture
of truth and error, both heightened by the zeal and animosities of
partizanship.

I had, however, in our connexion, strong evidence of how much the
mind, unless stimulated by particular motives, is prone to rest
satisfied with its acquisitions, and to think of things changeable in
their nature, under the influence of first impressions. He is a man
of liberal acquirements, sound judgment, great integrity of feeling,
and of unusually extensive practical knowledge, and yet some of his
notions of America, which were obtained half a century since, almost
tempted me to doubt the existence of his common sense. An acute
observer, a countryman long resident here, told me soon after landing
that “the English, clever, instructed, fair-minded and practical as
they commonly are, seem to take leave of their ordinary faculties, on
all subjects connected with America.” Really, I begin to be of the
same way of thinking.

Our connexion here, was as far from vapouring on the subject of
England, as any man I knew; of great personal modesty and simplicity,
he appears to carry these qualities into his estimates of national
character. He is one of the few Englishmen, I have met, for instance,
who has been willing to allow that Napoleon could have done any
thing, had he succeeded in reaching the island. “I do not see how
we should have prevented him from going to London,” he said, “had
he got a hundred thousand men fairly on the land, at Dungenness;
and once in London, heaven knows what would have followed.” This
opinion struck me as a sound one, for the nation is too rich, and the
division between _castes_, too marked, to expect a stout resistance,
when the ordinary combinations were defeated. I have little doubt,
that the difference in systematic preparation and in the number of
regular troops apart, that a large body of hostile men, would march
further in England, than in the settled parts of America, all the
fanfaronades of the Quarterly, to the contrary, notwithstanding. He
looks on the influence of the national debt too, gloomily, and is
as far from the vapid indifference of national vanity, as any one I
know. But, the moment we touch on America, his mind appears to have
lost its balance. As a specimen of how long the old colonial maxims
have been continued in this country, he has asked me where we are to
get wool for our manufactures? I reminded him of the extent of the
country. This was well enough, he answered, but “the winters are too
long in America to keep sheep.” When I told him the census of 1825,
shows that the single state of New York, with a population of less
than 1,800,000, has three millions and a half of sheep, he could
scarcely admit the validity of our documents.

All the ancient English opinions were formed on the political system
of the nation, and men endeavoured lustily to persuade themselves
that things which this system opposed could not be. The necessity of
enlisting opinion in its behalf, has imposed the additional necessity
of sometimes enlisting it, in opposition to reason.

There is a small building in Hoddesdon, called Roydon-house, that has
exceedingly struck my fancy. It is not large for Europe, not at all
larger than a second-rate American country house, but beautifully
quaint and old fashioned. I have seen a dozen of these houses, and
I envy the English their possession, much more than that of their
Blenheims and Eatons. I am told there is not a good room in it, but
that it is cut up, in the old way, into closets, being half hall and
stair case. The barrenness of our country, in all such relics, give
them double value in my eyes, and I always feel, when I see one,
as if I would rather live in its poetical and antique discomfort,
than in the best fitted dwelling of our own times. I dare say a
twelvemonth of actual residence, however, would have the same effect
on such a taste as it has on love in a cottage.

I returned to town in a post-chaise, a vehicle that the cockneys
do not calumniate, when they call it a “post _shay_.” It is a
small cramped inconvenient chariot without the box, and, like the
_interiors_ of the ordinary stage-coaches, does discredit to the
well established reputation of England for comfort. Those who use
post-horses, in Europe, usually travel in their own carriages, but
these things are kept, as _pis allers_ for emergencies.

As we drove through the long maze of villages, that are fast getting
to be incorporated with London itself, my mind was insensibly led to
ruminations on the growth of this huge capital, its influence on the
nation and the civilized world, its origin and its destinies.

To give you, in the first place, some idea of the growth of the
town, I had often heard a mutual connexion of ours, who was educated
in England, allude to the circumstance that the husband of one of
his cousins, who held a place in the royal household, had purchased
a small property in the vicinity of London, in order to give his
children the benefit of country air; his duties and his poverty
equally preventing him from buying a larger estate further from
town. When here, in 1826, I was invited to dine in the suburbs, and
undertook to walk to the villa, where I was expected. I lost my way,
and looking up at the first corner, for a direction, saw the name of
a family nearly connected with those with whom we are connected. The
three or four streets that followed had also names of the same sort,
some of which were American. Struck by the coincidence, I inquired in
the neighbourhood, and found I was on the property of the grandson of
the gentleman, who, fifty years before, had purchased it with a view
to give his children country air! Thus the _poverty_ of the ancestor
has put the descendant in possession of some fifteen or twenty
thousand a year.

I should think that the growth of London is greater, relatively,
than that of any other town in Europe, three or four on this island
excepted. Many think the place already too large for the kingdom,
though the comparison is hardly just, the empire, rather than
England, composing the social base of the capital. So long as the two
Indies and the other foreign dependencies can be retained, London is
more in proportion to the power and wealth of the state, than Paris
is in proportion to the power and wealth of France. The day must
come, (and it is nearer than is commonly thought) when the British
Empire, as it is now constituted, must break up, and then London
will, indeed, be found too large for the state. In that day, its
suburbs will probably recede quite as fast as they now grow. Mr.
McAdam considers the size of London an evil.

The English frequently discuss the usefulness of their colonies,
and moot the question of the policy of throwing them off. They who
support the latter project, invariably quote the instance of America,
as a proof that the present colonies will be more useful to the
mother country, when independent, than they are to-day. I have often
smiled at their reasoning, which betrays the usual ignorance of
things out of their own circle.

In the first place, England has very few real colonies at this
moment, among all her possessions. I do not know where to look for
a single foreign dependency of her’s, that has not been wrested by
violence from some original possessor. It is true, that time and
activity have given to some of these conquests the feelings and
characters of colonies; and Upper Canada, Nova Scotia, Jamaica, New
Holland, and possibly the Cape, are, more or less, acquiring the
title. I thought Mr. McAdam rather leaned to the opinion, that the
country would be better without its colonies than with them. He
instanced our own case, and maintained that we are more profitable to
England now, than when we were her dependants.

All of the thirteen states of America were truly English colonies.
One only was a conquest, (New York) but more than a century of
possession had given that one an English character, and the right of
conquest meeting with no obstacle in charters, a more thoroughly
English character too, by means of a territorial aristocracy, than
belonged to almost any other. The force and impression of this
strictly colonial origin, are still be traced among us, in the
durability of our prejudices, and in the deference of our opinions
and habits to those of the mother country; prejudices and a deference
that half a century of political facts, that are more antagonist to
those of England than any other known, so far from overthrowing, has
scarcely weakened.

In reviewing this subject, the extent and power of the United States
are also to be remembered. Our independence was recognized in 1783.
In 1793 commenced the wars of the French revolution. About this time,
also, we began the cultivation of cotton. Keeping ourselves neutral,
and profiting by the national aptitude, the history of the world does
not present another instance of such a rapid relative accumulation
of wealth, as was made by America between the years 1792 and 1812.
It would have been greater, certainly, had France and England been
more just, but, as it was, centuries will go by before we see its
parallel. Our naval stores, bread stuffs, cotton, tobacco, ashes,
indigo, and rice, all went to the highest markets. Here, then, our
colonial origin and habits, stood England in hand. Nineteen in
twenty of our wants were supplied from her workshops. Had we still
been dependants we could not have been neutral, could not have been
common carriers, could not have bought, for want of the ability to
sell.

Now, where is England, in her list of colonies, to find a parallel
to these facts? If the Canadas were independent, what have they
to export, that we could not crush by competition? England may
take lumber exclusively from British America, as a colony, but
were British America independent, we would not submit to such a
regulation. Our southern woods, among the best in the world, would
drive all northern woods out of the market. Having little to sell,
Canada could not buy, and she would begin, in self-defence, to
manufacture. Our manufactures would deluge the West-India islands,
our ships would carry their produce, and, in short, all the American
possessions would naturally look up to the greatest American state as
to their natural head.

In the east, it would be still worse. All the world would come in, as
sharers of a commerce that is now controlled for especial objects.
England would cease to be the mart of the world, and would find
herself left with certain expensive military establishments that
there would no longer be a motive for maintaining. Were England to
give up her dependencies, I think she would sink to a second-rate
power in twenty years. Did we not exist, the change might not be so
rapid, for there would be less danger from competition; but we _do_
exist; number, already, nearly as many people as England, and in a
quarter of a century more shall number as many as all the British
isles put together.

Can England retain her dependencies, in any event? The chances are
that she cannot. It is the interest of all christendom to overturn
her system, for it is opposed to the rights of mankind, to allow
a small territory in Europe, to extend its possessions and its
commercial exclusion, over the whole earth, by _conquest_. The view
of this interest, may be obscured by the momentary interference of
more pressing concerns, and the alliance of Great Britain purchase
temporary acquiescence, but as the world advances in civilization,
this exclusion will become more painful, until all will unite, openly
or secretly, to get rid of it. Men are fast getting to be of less
importance, in Europe, and general interests are assuming their
proper power.

It is probable that England will find herself so situated, long ere
the close of this century, as to render it necessary to abandon
her colonial system. When this is done, there will no longer be a
motive for retaining dependencies, that belong only to herself in
their charges. The dominion of the east will probably fall into the
hands of the half-castes; that of the West Indies will belong to the
blacks, and British America is destined to be a counterpoise to the
country along the gulph of Mexico. The first fleet of thirty sail
of the line, that we shall send to sea, will settle the question of
English supremacy, in our own hemisphere.

Were these great results dependent on the policy of America, I
should greatly distrust them, for, no nation has less care of its
foreign interests, or looks less into the future, than ourselves.
We are nearly destitute of statesmen, though overflowing with
politicians. But the facts of the republic are so stupendous as
to overshadow every thing within their influence. This is another
feature, in which the two countries are as unlike as possible.
Here all depends on men; on combinations, management, forethought,
care, and policy. With us, the young Hercules, is stripped of
his swaddlings, and his limbs and form are suffered to take the
proportions and shape of nature. To be less figurative—it is a known
fact that our exertions are proportioned to our wants. In nothing
is this truth more manifest, than in the difference which exists
between the foreign policies of England and America. That of this
country has all the vigilance, decision, energy, and system that are
necessary to an empire so factitious and of interests so diversified,
while our own is marked by the carelessness and neglect, not to say
ignorance, with which a vigorous youth, in the pride of his years
and strength, enters upon the hazards and dangers of life. One of
the best arguments that can be adduced in favor of the present
form of the British government, is its admirable adaptation to the
means necessary for keeping such an empire together. Democracy is
utterly unsuited to the system of metropolitan rule, since its maxims
imperiously require equality of rights. The secret consciousness
of this fitness, between the institutions and the empire, will
probably have a great effect on the minds of all reflecting men in
England, when the question comes to serious changes; for the moment
the popular feeling gets the ascendancy, the ties that connect the
several parts of this vast collection of conflicting interests,
will be loosened. The secrecy of motive, and the abandonment of
the commoner charities that are necessary for the control of so
complicated a machinery, are incompatible with the publicity of a
popular sway and the ordinary sympathies of human nature.[14]

Were London to fall into ruins, there would probably be fewer of its
remains left in a century, than are now to be found of Rome. All the
stuccoed palaces, and Grecian façades of Regent’s street and Regent’s
Park, would dissolve under a few changes of the season. The noble
bridges, St. Paul’s, the Abbey, and a few other edifices would remain
for the curious; but, I think, few European capitals would relatively
leave so little behind them, of a physical nature, for the
admiration of posterity. Not so, however, in matters, less material.
The direct and familiar moral influence of London is probably less
than that of Paris, but in all the higher points of character, I
should think it unequalled by that of Rome, itself.




LETTER XXIV.

TO R. COOPER, ESQ., COOPERSTOWN, N. Y.


Mr. Sotheby has had the good nature to take me with him, to see
Mr. Coleridge, at Highgate. We found the bard living in a sort of
New England house, that stands on what, in New England, would be
called a green. The demon of speculation, however, was at work in
the neighbourhood, and the place was _being_ disfigured by trenches,
timber, and bricks.

Our reception was frank and friendly, the poet coming out to us in
his morning undress, without affectation, and in a very prosaic
manner. Seeing a beautifully coloured little picture in the room, I
rose to take a nearer view of it, when Mr. Coleridge told me it was
by his friend Alston. It was a group of horsemen, returning from the
chase, the centre of light being a beautiful grey horse. Mr. Alston
had found this horse in some picture of Titian’s, and copied it for
a study; but on Mr. Coleridge’s admiring it greatly, he had painted
in two or three figures, with another horse or two, so as to tell
a story, and presented it to his friend. Of this little work, Mr.
Coleridge told the following singular anecdote.

A picture-dealer, of great skill in his calling, was in the habit of
visiting the poet. One day this person entered, and his eye fell on
the picture for the first time. “As I live!” he exclaimed, “a real
Titian!” Mr. Coleridge was then eagerly questioned, as to where he
had found the jewel, how long he had owned it, and by what means it
came into his possession. Suddenly, the man paused, looked intently
at the picture, _turned his back towards it, as if to neutralize the
effect of sight_, and raising his hand, so as to feel the surface
over his shoulder, he burst out in an ecstacy of astonishment, “It
has not been painted twenty years!”

This story was told with great unction and a suitable action, and
embellished with what a puritan would deem almost an oath. We then
adjourned to the library. Here we sat half an hour, during most of
which time, our host entertained us with his flow of language. I
was amused with the contrast between the two poets, for Mr. Sotheby
was as meek, quiet, subdued, simple, and regulated, as the other
was redundant, imaginative, and overflowing. I thought the first
occasionally checked the natural ebullitions of the latter, like a
friend who rebuked his failings. One instance was a little odd, and
pointed.

The conversation had wandered to phrenology, and Mr. Coleridge gave
an account of the wonders that a professor had found in his own head,
with a minuteness that caused his friend to fidget. To divert him
from the subject, I told an anecdote that occurred just before I left
America.

Meeting a votary of the science, one day, at a bookseller’s, he began
to expatiate on it’s beauties. From theory he proceeded to practice,
by making an analysis of my bumps. Tired of the manipulation, I
turned him over to the head of the bookseller, who was standing by,
professing to be a better judge of another man’s qualities, than of
my own. Now this bookseller was a singularly devout man, and the
phrenologist instinctively sought the bump of veneration, as the
other bowed his head for him to feel it. The moment the fingers of
the phrenologist touched the head, however, I saw that something was
wrong, and I had the curiosity to put my own hand to the scull. In
the spot where there should have been a bump, according to theory,
there was positively a hollow. I looked at the phrenologist, and the
phrenologist looked at me. At this moment, the bookseller was called
away by a customer, and I said to my acquaintance, “well, what do you
say to that?” “Say?—That I have no faith in that fellow’s religion!”

Both the gentlemen laughed at this story, but Mr. Sotheby gave it a
point, that I had not anticipated, by intimating to Mr. Coleridge,
pretty plainly, that when one discussed the subject of phrenology,
he should not introduce his own bumps, as the subject of the
experiments. Notwithstanding two or three little rebukes of this
nature, the poets got on very well together; and finding that they
had some rhymes to arrange between them, I left them to discuss the
matter by themselves.

This was a poetical morning, for, on leaving Mr. Coleridge, we drove
to the house of Miss Joanna Baillie, at Hampstead, a village that
lies on the same range of low heights. Luckily, we found this clever,
and respectable, and simple-minded woman in, and were admitted. I
never knew a person of real genius who had any of the affectations of
the smaller fry, on the subject of their feelings and sentiments. If
Coleridge was scholastic and redundant, it was because he could not
help himself; to use a homely figure, it was a sort of boiling over
of the pot on account of the intense heat beneath.

It has often been my luckless fortune to meet with ladies who have
achieved a common-place novel, or so, or who have written a Julia,
or a Matilda, for a magazine, and who have ever after deemed it
befitting their solemn vocation to assume lofty and didactic manners;
but Miss Baillie had none of this. She is a little, quiet, feminine
woman, who you would think might shrink from grappling with the
horrors of a tragedy, and whom it would be possible to mistake for
the maiden sister of the curate, bent only on her homely duties.
Notwithstanding this simplicity, however, there was a deeply-seated
earnestness about her, that bespoke the good-faith and honesty of the
higher impulses within.

After all, is it not these impulses that make what the world calls
genius? All men are sensible of truths, when they are fairly
presented to them, and is the difference between the select few, and
the many, any more than a quickening of the powers, by some physical
incentive, which, in setting the whole in motion, throws into
stronger light than common, the inventive, the beautiful, and the
sublime?

Let this be as it may, Miss Joanna Baillie had to me, the air and
appearance of a quiet enthusiast. She went with us to look at the
village, and, as she walked ahead, to do the honours of the place,
in her plain dark hat and cloak, I am certain, no one, at a glance,
would have thought her little person contained the elements of a
tragedy.

Something was said of a sketch of Napoleon, by Dr. Channing; a work I
had not seen. Miss Baillie allowed that it was clever, but objected
to some one of its positions, that, though it was right enough for
an American, it was not so right for an Englishman. As I had never
read the sketch, in question, I cannot tell you the precise point
to which she alluded, and I mention it, as another proof of a tone
of reasoning that is sufficiently common here, by which there is
an _abstract_, and a _quo ad hoc_ right, in all things that touch
political systems. This peculiarity has frequently struck me, and
I think it so marked, as to merit notice. I take it to be the
inevitable consequence of all systems, in which the reasoning is
adapted to the facts, and not the facts to the reasoning.

As we returned to town, we passed a group in which there was a ring
for a boxing match. Not a prize fight, but a set-too, in anger. Mr.
Sotheby expressed a very natural disgust, at this _human_, tendency,
(not _inhuman_, remember,) and, then, with an exquisite _naïveté_,
sympathized with me on the state of things, in this respect, in
America, with some sufficiently obvious allusions to gouging!
Although, I have not passed ten months in England, in the course of
four visits, I believe I have witnessed more fighting in it, between
men, than I ever saw in America. But of what use is it to tell this,
here? We are democrats, and bound by all the pandects of monarchical
and aristocratical opinion, to be truculent and quarrelsome; as,
having no establishment, we are bound to be irreligious; and, so far
from gaining credit, I should be set down, as one too sensitive to
see the faults of his own country.

Conversing with a very clever woman, the other day, on the subject
of field sports, she gave a sudden shudder, and exclaimed—“but, then
your rattlesnakes!” I laughed, and told her, that I had never seen a
rattlesnake, out of a cage, and that, particular places excepted, in
a country nearly as large as Europe, they were unknown in America.
She shook her head incredulously, closing the conversation, by
observing, “that a _country_, which contained rattlesnakes, could
scarcely be agreeable to walk in.”—What are a thousand leagues to
such an opinion?

Such notions is the American condemned to meet with, here, not only
daily, but hourly, and without ceasing, if he should mingle with the
people. The prejudices of the English, against us, against the land
in which we live, against the entire nation, morally, physically,
and politically, circulate in their mental systems, like the blood
in their veins, until they become as inseparable from the thoughts
and feelings, as the fluid of life is indispensable to vitality. I
say it, not in anger, but in sorrow, when I tell you, that I do not
believe the annals of the world can present another such instance of
a people, so blindly, ignorantly, and culpably misjudging a friendly
nation, as the manner in which England, at this moment, in nearly
all things, misjudges us. And yet, with this fact staring us in the
face, known to every man who visits the country, a few _serviles_
excepted, told to us by all foreigners, and as obvious as the sun at
noon day, there is not, probably, an American, with the exception
of political men who are sustained by party, that has a name of
sufficient reputation to reach these shores, who does not hold his
reputation at home, not only at the mercy of this country, but at the
mercy of any miscreant in it, who may choose to insert three or four
paragraphs, to his credit or discredit, in any of the periodicals of
the day! Really, one is tempted to exclaim with that countryman, who
heard a salute from a seventy-four, “now, do I know, we are a great
people!”

My admiration of the growth and immensity of London, increases
every time I have occasion to pass its frontiers. I was struck with
a remark made to me, here, by Lord H——, who said—“the want of a
capital is one of the greatest difficulties, with which you have to
contend in America.” Of course, he meant by a capital, not a seat of
government, but a large town, in which the intelligence and influence
of the country, periodically assembled, and whence both might
radiate, like warmth from the sun, throughout the nation.

It is not easy for any but close observers, to estimate the influence
of such places as London and Paris. They contribute, essentially, to
national identity, and national tone, and national policy: in short,
to nationality—a merit in which we are almost entirely wanting. I
do not mean national sensitiveness, which some fancy is patriotism,
though merely provincial jealousy, but that comprehensive unity
of feeling and understanding, that renders a people alive to its
true dignity and interests, and prompt to sustain them, as well as
independent in their opinions. We are even worse off, than most
other nations would be without a capital, for we have an anomalous
principle of _dispersion_ in the state capitals. In nothing is
the American government more wanting, than in tone in all its
foreign relations. What American, out of his own country, feels
any dependance on its protection? No one, who has any knowledge of
its real action. Such an accumulation of wrongs may be made, as
to touch the community, and then it is ready enough to fight; but
the _individual_, who should urge his own injuries on the nation,
as a case that called for interference, would be crushed by the
antagonist interests of commerce, which is now the only collected and
concentrated interest of the nation. An Englishman, or a Frenchman,
goes into distant countries, with a consciousness that he leaves
behind him, a concentrated and powerful sentiment of nationality,
that will throw its protection around him, even to the remotest
verge of civilization, but the case is altogether different with
the American. If a man of reflection and knowledge, he knows that
there is no concentrated feeling, at home, to sustain him; that the
moment any case arises to set his claims to justice in opposition to
the trading interests, he becomes obnoxious to the plastic ethics
of commerce, and that there is no condensed community to sustain
the government, in doing what is clearly its duty, and what may
even be its inclination. Public opinion, half the time, is formed
in America, by downright, impudent simulations; for little more
is necessary than to assert, that Boston and Philadelphia think so
and so, to get New York to join the cry. Such things are not so
easily practised in a capital, where the intelligence of a nation
is concentrated, which is the focus of facts, and, where men become
habituated to the arts of the intriguing and selfish. I believe
Lord H—— is right, and that the want of a capital, on a scale
commensurate with that of the nation, is, indeed, one of the greatest
difficulties, with which we have to contend. We shall never become
truly a nation, until we get one. These notions will, probably, seem
odd, and certainly new to you, as indeed they are new to me; but
it is not a good mode of getting correct ideas of even oneself, to
remain always at one’s own fireside.




LETTER XXV.

J. E. DE KAY, ESQUIRE, NEW YORK.


Mr. Rogers came to me the other evening, on one of his friendly
visitations, and I went out with him, not well knowing what was to be
the result of it. We trot along the streets, together, he a little
on the lead, for he is a capital and an earnest walker, and I in the
rear, getting over the pavement at the rate of four miles the hour.

London has certain private ways, called passages I believe, by which
one can avoid the carriages and much of the streets, besides greatly
shortening the distances. We took to a line of these passages, and
came out in Leicester Square. Crossing this, we pursued our way as
far as the theatres, and entered that of Covent Garden. As I had
nothing to do, but to follow my leader, who had certain signals, by
means of which he appeared to go just where he pleased, I soon found
myself in a private box, quite near the stage, and nearly on a level
with the pit. There was a sedate elderly man in possession, already,
but he proved to be an acquaintance of my companion, who whispered a
few words, and then presented me to him, as to the vice chancellor,
Sir John Leach.

The play was intended to represent some of the sports and practices
of ancient London, but the chief merit was the scenery. As it is
fair to presume that the best authorities had been consulted, I had
a great deal of pleasure in looking at the quaint pictures that were
successively presented to us, by some of which, it was evident that
our progenitors built very much in the rude style that is still to be
seen in the towns of Picardy and Normandy, and that, whatever, London
may be now, she has not always been a wonder of the world.

The house was much larger than any of our own, it was better lighted,
and had a neater and fresher look, in despite of London and coal
dust. The audience was, quite evidently, composed of people of a
class much beneath the highest, still it had a well-dressed and
a respectable air, and, although its taste was sometimes to be
questioned, it was well mannered. In short, it was very much like
what our own better theatres used to exhibit, before the inroad of
the Goths. The playing was scarcely to be distinguished from what one
usually sees in America, though it was perhaps a little more decided
in its English tone. Mr. Charles Kemble was among the actors. The
circumstances that the lower tier was reserved for people in evening
dress, and that, the men sat with their hats off, gave the spectacle
an appearance of respectability and _comfort_ (to use an Anglicism)
that is now seldom seen in any of our own places of public resort.

It is an immense advantage to possess a National Theatre. Our
moralists have made a capital blunder in setting their faces against
the stage; since, while demonstrating their own inability to put it
down, they have thrown it almost entirely into the hands of those
who look only to pecuniary advantages. It should be patronized
and regulated by the state, as the best means of giving it a true
direction, and of checking, if not of totally repressing its abuses.
The common argument, that theatres are places of resort for the
vicious, and particularly for women of light manners, is built on
narrow views and great ignorance of the world. In many countries, the
_churches_ are used for the purposes of intrigue, and yet it would
hardly be thought a sufficient argument for abandoning them entirely.

The English government retains a supervision of the stage, a thing
that is well enough if well managed; but, in all countries in
which the institutions are not founded on the mass, the tendency
of censorships is to protect the systems, and, in order to do this
with the least odium, they get to be loose on points that are more
essential to a pure morality. Vice is frequently thrown out as a sop,
to keep the mass quiet under the restraints of despotism.

We are still too young and too provincial for a national theatre.
Nothing can be safer than to write or to talk in _praise_ of
America, and all it contains, more especially of its _things_, but
few men have yet nerve enough to tell an unpalatable truth. We have
a one sided liberty of speech and of the press, that renders every
one right valorous in eulogies, but even the pulpit shrinks from
its sacred duties, on many of the most besetting, the most palpable
and the most common of our vices. It is bold enough, as to vague
generalities, and sometimes as to personalities, but who ever sees
the caustic applied to the public? The stage, a little later, may be
made the most efficient corrective of American manners, but, in the
true spirit of village resentment and of provincial sensibilities, a
dramatist could hardly expose a failing, now, that the whole audience
would not be ready to cry out, “do you mean me sir?”

We are much laughed at, here, just now, for the manner in which
the press is resenting the late book of Captain Hall. No nation
is very philosophical under abuse, and certainly the English are
surprisingly thin-skinned for a people as proud, and possessing
so many just claims to greatness. The fact is, both nations are
singularly conceited on the subject of national character, giving
themselves credit for a good many exclusive qualities to which they
have no exclusive pretensions, and by dint of self glorification,
in which the presses of the two countries have been particularly
active, they have got, at last, to look upon every man who denies
their exaggerated demands, as a sort of robber. Perhaps no other
people praise themselves so openly, offensively and industriously as
those of England and America, and I have no doubt the newspapers are
a principal cause that this failing is so coarsely exhibited, for, as
to its mere existence, I fancy there is no great difference in the
amount of vanity, as between nations, or as between individuals.

I have been much surprised, however, at observing that, while all
America appears to be up in arms against Captain Hall, on account
of his hits at our manners, no one seems disposed to take up the
gauntlet in defence of the institutions! I know no writer who is
more vulnerable in his facts, or in his reasoning on politics,
than this gentleman, and yet, while so much ink is shed in behalf
of a gentility and civilization that it would become us rather to
improve and refine, than to defend, the glorious political facts of
the country, are treated as if unworthy of attention. Can all this
proceed from the circumstance that we are conscious the latter can
take care of themselves, while we secretly distrust the claims of
the former. No violence would be done to human nature if this should
actually be the case.

The greatest objection I have to the book of Mr. Hall, is that it
_insinuates_ more than it proves, or even asserts. This is the
worst species of detraction, for it admits of neither refutation
nor denial. But I cannot express to you the disgust I have felt,
as a looker on at a distance, at reading in the journals the mean
spirited anticipations of what Mr. Hall was to do for us, in the way
of raising the character of the nation, and the low personal abuse
that has succeeded, the moment it is found that these anticipations
are not realized. To be frank with you, one appears to be as
discreditable to the tone, feelings, tastes, and facts of the nation
as the other.

It would be next to impossible for an Englishman, on a short
acquaintance, to like the state of society that exists in America.
I never knew one that did, nor do I believe that it is agreeable to
any European, let him come from what part of Europe he will. It is
necessary that habit should smooth down many asperities, before this
can be the case; nor do I think that many Americans like England,
if they go beyond the outside, until time has done a similar office
in its favour. I am not disposed to quarrel with any Englishman,
who says frankly, your society is not to my liking; it wants order,
tone, finish, simplicity, and manliness; having substituted in their
stead, pretension, noise, a childish and rustic irritability, and
a confusion in classes. These defects are so obvious to a man of
the world, that one cannot but distrust the declarations that are
sometimes made to the contrary. Notwithstanding this admission,
I have little doubt that most of the books of travels that have
been published in England, and in which America has been held up
to ridicule, have been addressed to the prejudices of the nation;
written in that particular vein, because it has been believed it
would be more likely to please than any other. Very few of them
discover honesty of intention, a trait that is usually detected even
in the midst of blunders, but it happens that this work of Captain
Hall does possess this redeeming quality.[15]

The pronunciation of the stage is the same, here, as it is with
us. That of the world is not essentially different from the best
pronunciation of the Middle States, though, in many respects, much
better than that of what is now called their _society_. Certainly,
as a nation, we speak better than the English, but it is absurd to
set up the general language of the educated classes of America, as
being as pure as the language of the same classes here. I do not
make this remark in reference to those words whose pronunciation
varies, but in reference to those concerning whose provincialism
there can be no dispute. The women of this country have a distinct,
quiet, and regulated utterance, that is almost unknown in their own
sex in America. Their voices are more like _contr’altos_ than those
of our women, who have a very peculiar shrillness, and they manage
them much better. Indeed, we are almost in a state of nature on all
these points. The manners of the country are decidedly worse now, in
every thing, than they were thirty years since; a fact, that must
be attributed to the _pêle mêle_ produced by a rapid growth and
extraordinary prosperity.

While on the subject of representations, I will mention one that
has been a little out of the usual course, even for England. We
have had a birthday lately, and as George IV. seldom appears in
public, the festivities on this occasion have been more than usually
brilliant. One of the usages, here, is to bring out young females, by
presenting them at court, and, so particular are the true adherents
to etiquette, that I am told many young ladies, who have passed the
proper age, have been waiting two or three years for this ceremony,
in order to make their appearance in the world. At all events, every
one has seemed disposed to make the most of the opportunity that has
just offered, and we have had a greater show of magnificence, and a
much greater throng of courtiers, than it is usual to see, even in
this country, in which the king is probably as much flattered as
fettered.

As our residence is so near the palace, I had every facility for
seeing what was going on without putting myself to inconvenience. One
of the first movements was the march of the horse-guards from their
barracks to the palace. These troops have a widespread reputation
for size and magnificence. They are large men, certainly, but must
be next to useless in a campaign. Indeed, they are kept for state,
though they may be of service in quelling riots, in a town like
London; their appearance being well adapted to terrifying an unarmed
mob. In size, they are considerably beyond the French _gardes du
corps_, but the latter are very numerous, while there cannot be more
than a few hundred of the former. Nor are these all English, for,
walking behind two of them, the other day, I overheard them speaking
like foreigners. They are probably picked up, like the tall men of
Frederic, wherever they can be found. It is not impossible that there
may be a stray Yankee among them, as there are several in the French
army.

The march of these imposing troops was preceded by a fine band on
horseback, and the music was the signal for the crowd to collect.
There were two ways of entering the palace, one private, and the
other public. The princes, foreign ministers, accompanied by those
they were about to present, the great officers of the kingdom and
court, and certain of the privileged, used the former, while the
more common herd of courtiers went by the latter. The first were set
down in a court near what is called the _stable-yard_, and the latter
at the foot of St. James’ street.

There is a simple good sense, not to call it good taste, that
distinguishes the English from their more ambitious kinsmen,
our worthy selves, in all matters connected with names. This of
“stable-yard” is one in point; for with us it would be the “stadium,”
or the “gymnasium,” if, indeed, it escaped being called the “Campus
Martius.” The tendency is to exaggeration, in men, to whom learning,
modes, of living, and, indeed, most other things, are new, and the
mass being better educated than common with us, without, however,
being sufficiently educated to create a taste for simplicity, and, at
the same time, having an usual influence, we are kept a little more
on stilts in such matters than one could wish. This defect pervades
the ordinary language of the country too, and, sooner or later,
will totally corrupt it, if the proportion, of the unformed to the
formed, goes on increasing at the rate it has done for the last ten
years.[16]

I stood in the “stable-yard,” vulgar as the name will sound to “ears
polite,” witnessing the arrival of princes, ambassadors, and dukes,
and much struck with the magnificence of their carriages. Certainly,
I had seen nothing equalling it, in Paris, though the every day
style of the King of France, materially surpasses that of the King
of England. After all, I thought the gorgeous vehicles, with their
coronets rising above their tops, the gildings, and the lace, much
less pleasing than the simple perfection of the common carriages of
the country, in which every thing is beautiful, because nothing is
overdone. M. de Polignac, and Prince Esterhazy, were both present,
the one as the French, the other as the Austrian ambassador. The
Duke of Gloucester, the cousin and brother-in-law of the king,
came in state, as it is termed, having three footmen, in elaborate
liveries and wearing a sort of jockey caps, instead of hats, clinging
behind his carriage. He was himself, a fine looking man, with a good
prominent profile, and a full contented face, dressed in the uniform
of a field marshal.

But I soon tired of the mere raree show. Accompanied by a friend,
I went round to the line of carriages in St. James’s street, which,
by this time, could not set down the company nearly as fast, as the
vehicles arrived at the other end. There were in fact, two lines, one
in St. James’s street, and the other in Pall Mall, and overhearing
some one speak of the great length of the former, we determined
to walk to the other extremity of it, as the shortest method of
satisfying our curiosity; to receive the passing, instead of the
standing salute.

I should think, that this one line of carriages extended quite
two miles. In the whole distance, there was not a hackney coach,
for London is as unlike Paris, as possible, in this respect. The
carriages, for a great part of the distance, were drawn up quite
close to the side-walks, in order to leave the centre of the streets
free for the privileged to come and go, and, perhaps, also, to permit
a freer circulation of the crowd. In consequence of the wheels being
nearly in the gutters, and the English carriages being hung quite
low, our heads were almost on a level with those of the occupants
of the different equipages. In this manner, then, we walked slowly
along the line, examining the courtiers at our leisure, by broad
day-light, and much nearer than we could have got to most of them,
in the palace. The crowd took it all in very good part, appearing to
regard it as an exhibition to which, they were admitted gratis. Some
of the people, who, by the way, were well dressed, and well behaved
as a whole, stood looking in at the carriage windows, with quite as
much coolness as if they were the proprietors, chatting with their
own wives and daughters. Now and then, a footman would remonstrate
against the impertinence, but, in the main, the women seemed resigned
to their fate. Similar liberties with us, would be natural excesses
of democracy! For the reasons already mentioned, there was a larger
proportion than common, of young women to be presented, and it may be
questioned if the world could have offered a parallel to the beauty
and bloom, that were thus arrayed before our eyes, I have elsewhere
said that the English females have the advantage of ours in high
dress, and this was altogether a ceremony in which the advantage
was of their side. I do not think, that we could have shown as much
beauty, in precisely the same style, although, when one remembers the
difference between a scattered and a condensed population, it becomes
him to speak with caution, on a point so delicate.

The ancient court dress, particularly that of the women, has
undergone some changes, of late, I believe. I am told the hoop is
done away with, though it was not easy to ascertain the fact, to-day,
as I only saw the ladies seated. The _coiffures_ were good, and the
_toilettes_, as a matter of course, magnificent. Diamonds sparkled
among eyes scarcely less brilliant than themselves. In France,
diamonds are seldom used, except at court, though it is probable,
that they are oftener exhibited here, the court being so secluded. On
this occasion, however, they were seen in great quantities, enthroned
on some of the fairest brows of Christendom.

The men, with the usual exceptions of those who wore their regular
professional attire, were all in the well-known claret-coloured
coat, steel buttons, bags, swords, and embroidered vests. As many of
those who came alone, preferred walking to and from their carriages,
to waiting an hour for their approach, we had a good many of these
gentry in the streets, where they gave the crowd a little of the air
of a carnival masquerade. There is great simplicity in the dress of
the men of England, however; even on great occasions like this, much
of the more tawdry taste being reserved expressly for the footmen.

But, apart from the lovely faces of the young and fair of England,
the out door glory of the day, was borne away by the coachmen. Every
one of them had a new wig, and many of them capped the flaxens with
as rare specimens of castors, as ever came out of a shop. It would be
scarcely accurate to call these hats cocked, for they were altogether
too _coquet_ and knowing, for a term so familiar. Figure to yourself,
the dignity of a portly man of fifty, with a sky blue coat, laced on
all its seams, red plush breeches, white silk stockings, shoebuckles
as large as a muffin, a smug wig, a shovel nosed hat, edged with
broad gold lace, and a short snub nose of his own, as red as a
cherry, and you will get some idea of these dignitaries.

When we had returned from examining the long line of carriages, I met
one of the princesses, in a sedan chair, on her way from the palace
to her own residence. She was attended by six or eight footmen,
in the jockey caps, and scarlet liveries. Her face was pallid and
wrinkled, and as she was no longer young, her appearance had that
unearthly and unseemly look, that always marks the incongruity
between age and the toilet. Some of the most _uncomfortable_, (you
see how English I am getting,) some of the most _uncomfortable_
objects I have seen in Europe, have been women in the “sear and
yellow leaf,” tricked out for courts and balls, and bedizened with
paint and jewels. This is a folly, at least, which we have as yet
escaped, for if we do abandon society to those who had better be
practising their _gammes_, or kicking football on a college green, we
do not attempt to still the thoughts of the grave, by these glaring
and appalling vanities.

The scene closed with a procession of mail coaches, which, however
neat and seemly the set-outs, had too much the air of a cockney show,
to detain us from our dinner.

If the English are simple and tasteful in so much of their
magnificence, and, apart from its occasional ponderousness, these
are its prevailing characteristics, they are more than usually
studied and artificial, in extolling it, when all over. The papers
delight in the histories of great dinners, and fashionable balls;
and I have been solemnly assured, there are people, that get into
society, who are actually guilty of the meanness of paying for the
insertion of their names in the list of the company that is regularly
published. As to a drawing-room at court, it is a little fortune to
the newsfinders. A guinea introduces the name, five guineas insures
immortality to the dress, and ten brings in the carriage. This, you
will see, is making great men, and great women, on a principle still
unknown with us, where we manufacture them in such quantities, and
swear they are the best in the market.




LETTER XXVI.

TO JAMES STEVENSON, ESQ., ALBANY, N. Y.


The question is often asked, in what do the poor of England suffer
more than the poor of any other country? I am not sufficiently versed
in the details connected with the subject, to speak with authority,
but I can give you the impressions received, as a looker on.

In comparing the misery of England with that of the continent of
Europe, one must remember the great difference of climate. A man
suffers less at Naples, without a coat or a fire, and with three
_grani_ for his daily pittance, than is undergone in England,
beneath woollen, with ten _grani_ to furnish the “ways and means.”
These facts make a great moral difference in favour of England,
when we come to consider the merits of systems, though the physical
consequences may be against her.

The poor of this country appear to me to be over-worked. They have
little or no time for relaxation, and instead of exhibiting that
frank manly cheerfulness, and heartiness of feeling, that have been
so much extolled, they appear sullen, discontented, and distrustful.
There is far less confidence and sympathy between classes, than I
had expected to see, for, although a good understanding may exist
between the great landholder, and the affluent yeoman who pays him
rent and farms the soil, the social chain appears to be broken
between those below the latter and their superiors. I do not mean
that the rich are obdurate to the sufferings of the poor, but that
the artificial condition of the country has choked the ordinary
channels of sympathy, and that the latter, when known at all, are
known only as the _poor_. They are the objects of duties, rather than
fellow-creatures living constantly within the influence of all the
charities, including those of communion and rights, as well as those
which are exhibited in donations.

There is one large class of beings, in England, whose condition I
should think less enviable than that of Asiatic slaves. I allude to
the female servants of all work, in the families of those who keep
lodging-houses, tradesmen, and other small house-keepers. These poor
creatures have an air of dogged sullen misery that I have never seen
equalled, in any other class of human beings, not even excepting the
beggars in the streets. In our lodgings at Southampton there was one
of these girls, and her hand was never idle, her foot seemed to know
no rest, while her manner was that of wearied humility. We were then
fresh from home, and the unmitigated toil of her existence struck
us all most painfully. When we spoke to her kindly, she seemed
startled, and looked distrustful and frightened. A less inviting
subject for sympathy could scarcely be imagined, for she was large,
coarse, robust, and even masculine, but even these iron qualities
were taxed beyond endurance.

I should not draw a picture like this, on the authority of a single
instance. I have seen too much to corroborate the first impressions,
and make no doubt that the case of the woman at Southampton was the
rule, and that instances of better treatment make the exceptions. In
one of my bachelor visits here, I had lodgings in which there was a
still more painful example. The mistress of this house was married
and had children, and being a lazy slattern, with three sets of
lodgings in the house, her tyranny exceeded all I had ever before
witnessed. You are to understand that the solitary servant, in these
houses, is usually cook, house-maid, and waiter. When the lodger
keeps no servant, she answers his bell, as well as the street door
knocker, and goes on all his errands that do not extend beyond a
proper distance. The girl was handsome, had much delicacy of form and
expression, and an eye that nature had intended to be brilliant and
spirited. She could not be more than twenty-two or three, but misery
had already driven her to the bottle. I saw her only at the street
door, and on two or three occasions when she answered my own bell, in
the absence of my man. At the street door, she stood with her eyes
on the carpet, and when I made my acknowledgments for the trouble she
had taken, she curtsied hurriedly, and muttered the usual “Thankee,
sir.” When she came into my room it was on a sort of drilled trot,
as if she had been taught a particular movement to denote assiduity
and diligence, and she never presumed to raise her eyes to mine, but
stood the whole time looking meekly down. For every order I was duly
thanked! One would think that all this was hard to be borne, but,
a day or two before I left the house, I found her weeping in the
street. She had disobliged her lazy exacting mistress, by staying
out ten minutes too long on an errand, and had lost her place. I
took the occasion to give her a few shillings as her due for past
services, but so complete was her misery in being turned away without
a character, that even the sight of money failed to produce the usual
effects. I make little doubt she took refuge in gin, the bane of
thousands and tens of thousands of her sex, in this huge theatre of
misery and vice.

The order, method, and punctuality of the servants of England are
all admirable. These qualities probably contribute quite as much to
their own comfort as to that of their masters and mistresses. It is
seldom that well-bred persons, anywhere, are unkind to their menials,
though they are sometimes exacting through ignorance of the pain they
are giving. The tyranny comes from those who always appear to feel a
desire to revenge their own previous hardships, on the unfortunate
creatures whom chance puts in their power. I do not know that the
English of condition are unkind to their domestics; the inference
would fairly be that they are not; but there is something, either in
the system that has unfortunately been adopted, or in the character
of the people, which has introduced a distance between the parties
that must be injurious to the character of those who serve.

On the continent of Europe the art of managing domestics appears
to be understood much better than it is here. A body servant is
considered as a sort of humble friend, being treated with confidence
but without familiarity, nor can I say I have often witnessed
any want of proper respect on the part of the domestics. The old
Princesse de ——, who was a model of grace and propriety in her
deportment, never came to see my wife, without saying something kind
or flattering to her _femme de chambre_, who usually admitted her
and saw her out. A French servant expects to be spoken to, when you
meet on the stairs, in the court, or in the garden, and would be hurt
without a “_bon jour_” at meeting, or an “_adieu_” at parting. A
French Duke would be very apt to take off his hat, if he had occasion
to go into the porter’s lodge, or into the servant’s hall; but I
think very little of this courtesy would be practised here. It is our
misfortune to try to imitate the English in this, as in other things,
and I make little question, one of the principal reasons why our
servants are so bad, is owing to their not being put on the proper
footing of confidential dependants.

The comparison between the condition of the common English
house-servant, and that of the American slave, is altogether in
favour of the latter, if the hardship of compelled servitude be kept
out of view. The negro, bond or free, is treated much more kindly
and with greater friendship, than most of the English domestics; the
difference in colour, with the notions that have grown up under them,
removing all distrust of danger from familiarity. This is not said
with a view to turn the tables on our kinsmen for their numberless
taunts and continued injustice; for, with such an object, I think
something more original and severe might easily be got up; but simply
because I believe it to be true. Perhaps the servants of no country
have more enviable places than the American slaves, so far as mere
treatment and the amount of labour are concerned.

One prominent feature of poverty, in England, is dependent on causes
which ought not to be ascribed to the system. If a man can be content
to live on a few grapes, and a pound of coarse bread, and to go
without a coat, or a fire, in a region like that of Naples, it does
not necessarily follow, that another ought to be able to do the same
things in a country in which there are no grapes, in which a fire
is necessary, and a coat indispensable. The high civilization of
England, unquestionably contributes also to the misery of the very
poor, by augmenting their wants, though it adds greatly to the
comforts of those who are able to sustain themselves. As between the
Americans and the English, it is not saying much, under the peculiar
circumstances of their respective countries, that the poor of the
former are immeasurably better off than the poor of the latter; but,
apart from certain advantages of climate in favour of the south
of Europe, I am not at all certain that the poor of England, as a
body, do not fare quite as well as the poor of any other part of
Christendom. I know little more of the matter, however, than meets
the eye of an ordinary traveller; but, taking that as a guide, I
think I should prefer being a pauper in England, to being a beggar
in France. I now speak of physical sufferings altogether, for on all
points that relate to the feelings, admitting that the miserable
still retain any sentiment on such points, I think England the least
desirable country, for a poor man, that I know.

The notion that so generally prevails in America, on the subject
of the independence and manliness of the English, certainly does
not apply to the body of the poor, nor do I think the tradesmen,
in general, have as much of these qualities, as those of France.
The possession of their franchises, at a time when such privileges
were rare, may have given some claims to a peculiar character of
this nature, but while the pressure of society has been gradually
weighing heavier and heavier on the nation, creating the dependence
of competition and poverty, in lieu of that of political power,
the other countries of Europe have lessened their legal oppression,
until, I think, the comparison has got to be in their favour. I
should say there is quite as little manly independence, in the
intercourse between classes, here, as in any country I have visited.

It is a common result of temporal advantages and civilization, and,
perhaps, to be accounted for on obvious principles, that they should
fail to bestow the happiness at which we profess to aim. I do not
think that either the English or the Americans are a happy people.
The possession of a certain physical civilization soon becomes
necessary to our wants, but we rather miss them when they are lost,
than enjoy them when possessed. In this particular, Providence has
singularly equalized the lot of men, for being mere creatures of
habit, advantages of this kind neutralize themselves. The sort of
happiness that is dependent solely on material things, after the
first wants are supplied, is purely relative, and the relation is to
our knowledge, rather than to any standard that exists in nature. He
who has appeased his hunger with bread, and slaked his thirst with
water, is just as well off, so far as his appetites are concerned, as
he who has eaten a _râgout_, and drunk Johannisberger. This is said,
however, solely in reference to hunger and thirst, for I make little
doubt character a good deal depends on diet, and that the art with
which materials are put together, is of more consequence than the
viands themselves.

Human happiness would seem to be dependent on three primary
causes—the intellect, the affections, and that which is physical.
A certain portion of all, with their accompanying misery, is
unquestionably the general lot, though so unequally distributed.
But, making the proper allowances for a common nature, we are to
distinguish between the consequences of particular conditions of
society. The greatest obstacle to all our enjoyments is worldly
care, and as we increase what is deemed our civilisation, we augment
the cares by which they are to be acquired or retained. There is,
certainly, a medium in this matter, as in every thing else, but as
few are disposed to respect it, it may be set down as unattainable
in practice. I believe more people are unhappy because they cannot
possess certain indulgences, or because, when possessed, they have
been bought too dear, than because they never knew them at all.

It has long struck me that the term “happy country” is singularly
misapplied, as regards America; and, I believe, also as regards this
country. It is true, it has a conventional meaning, in which sense it
may be well enough; but, comparing the people of France, or Italy,
with those of England, or the United States, all external symptoms
must be treacherous, or the former have greatly the advantage. By
placing incentives before us to make exertions, the El Dorado of our
wishes is never obtained, and we pass our lives in vain struggles to
reach a goal that recedes as we advance. This, you will be apt to
say, is the old truism of the moralist, and proves as much against
one nation, as against another. I think the latter position untrue.
Competition may be pushed so far as to neutralize all its fruits, by
inciting to envy and strife. In America, for instance, all the local
affections are sacrificed to the spirit of gain. The man who should
defend the roof of his fathers, against an inroad of speculators,
would infallibly make enemies, and meet with persecution. Thus is he
precluded from one source of happiness that is connected with the
affections; for, though the law might protect him, opinion, which is
stronger than law, would sooner or later drive him from his fireside.
I know very well this is merely a consequence of a society in the
course of establishing itself, but it shows how vulnerable is our
happiness.

But, putting all theory out of the question, neither the English nor
the Americans have the air and manners of a happy people, like the
French and the Italians. The first have a sullen, thoughtful look,
as if distrustful of the future, which gives one the idea that their
enjoyments are deferred to a more favourable opportunity; while
the two last seem to live as time goes on. Something of this is
probably owing to temperament, but temperament itself has, in part,
a moral origin. As to the Americans, there are very many reasons
for their want of happiness. The settlement of an immense country
snaps the family ties, though the constant migration has the effect
to produce an amalgamated whole. The tendency of things generally,
with us, is to destroy all individuality of character and feeling,
and to concentrate every thing in the common identity. One would
be set down for an aristocrat, who should presume to enjoy himself
independently of his neighbours. It is true, that so far as gain is
concerned, there is an exception, the absence of restriction giving
free exercise to personal efforts; but when money is obtained by
individual enterprise, it must be used, in a greater degree than
common, in conformity with the feeling of the nation. One disposed
to cavil at the institutions, might almost fancy the public had a
jealousy of a man’s possessing kinsmen that were not thrown into the
general stock. But this weakness of the family tie, in America, is
to be ascribed to other causes, among which the constant migrations,
as I have just observed, have a conspicuous place. Let the reason be
what it will, the effect is to cut us off from a large portion of the
happiness that is dependent on the affections.

Then the whole Anglo-Saxon race is deficient in the enjoyments that
are so much dependent on the tastes. While there is even a vein
of higher poetical feeling than common among a few exceptions,
as if nature delighted in extremes, the mass have little relish
for poetry, scarcely any good music, and appear to be absolutely
wanting in those sentiments which throw so much grace around the
rustic amusements of other countries. One might account for these
peculiarities in the Americans, by their fanatical origin, and
peculiar physical condition, but they are almost as true as respects
England itself, as they are with us. The Germans, and other northern
nations, the nearest to us in extraction, have a wild poetry in their
most vulgar superstitions that is not found here. They cultivate
music, and have a deep feeling for it, as an art. This single fact is
coupled with one of the highest enjoyments with which we are gifted.
The music of America is beneath contempt. We are probably worse off
in this particular, than any other civilized people, though certainly
improving. The English, though greatly our superiors, are much behind
all the other European nations, with which I am acquainted. The music
of the people has a cast of vulgarity about it, like our own, that
of itself denotes a want of feeling for the art. Even the French, by
no means a people of poetical tastes, are greatly their superiors in
music. One seldom hears a vulgar air even among the _bas peuple_. I
make little doubt, that, in time, we shall surpass the English in
this art.

All these peculiarities diminish the enjoyments of the English;
but, it strikes me, that the principal reason why these people and
the Americans are less happy than usual, is to be found in the fact
that, by admitting civilization, men admit cares, whose moral evils
are not compensated for, until one reaches a degree of cultivation
far above the level of mediocrity. There is, unquestionably, much
physical suffering, all over Europe, that is virtually unknown with
us, but the remarks just made are meant to apply to those who are
removed from the first wants of life. Both England and America strike
me as being countries of facts rather than of feelings. It is almost
purely so, but the English have one great advantage over us, in
being a country of ideas, if not of sentiments and affections. The
difference is owing to our youth.

_Passons au deluge_:—Speaking of the music of England, you are not
to understand that there is no good music here. The gold of the
country attracts the first artists of Europe, as a matter of course;
but even the cultivated English have, quite obviously, not much more
feeling for the art than we have ourselves. As a greater portion
travel, their tastes are a little more cultivated than those of our
people, but nothing strikes one sooner, than the obvious difference
in feeling between an English audience, at the opera, and one on the
continent of Europe.

Still, the street music of London is positively the best in the
world. The improvement in the last few years, even, is quite
apparent. Respectable artists, such as would gladly be received in
our orchestras, walk the streets, and play the music of Rossini,
Mozart, Beethoven, Meyerbeer, Weber, &c. &c. beneath your windows.
London is not as well arranged for this species of enjoyment as
the towns of the continent, for there are no courts in which the
performers can get away from the clamour of the streets; but, about
eight, the carriages cease, every body being at dinner, and most
of the more private places are quite silent. Since the weather has
become mild, I have frequently paused in my evening walks, to listen
to airs that have come from the harp, violin, and flageolet, and have
almost fancied myself in Venice, or Naples, though surrounded by the
dingy bricks of London. A party of French have found us out, and they
come regularly, twice a week, and play old French airs beneath the
windows; favours that are seldom conferred on private houses, the
public hotels being their usual stopping places. The secret of this
unusual feature in the town, is in the fact, that where an Italian,
or a Frenchman, though filled with enthusiasm, would bestow a few
sous, the Englishman, with immoveable muscles, throws out half a
crown. Walking to a dinner, the other evening, I heard a grand piano,
on which some one was playing an overture of Rossini’s, accompanied
by a flageolet, and, going a little out of my way to ascertain the
cause, I found the artist in the street, seated before the open
windows of a hotel. He trundled the machine about on a sort of
wheelbarrow, and his execution was quite equal to what one usually
hears in society.

I cannot describe to you the influence these sweet sounds,
especially when they revive the recollections of other and more
genial lands, have over the feelings. These are the moments in which
men may be said truly to live, and half an hour of such delight is
worth a year passed in listening to the prices of lots, and to the
variation of the markets. Music is certainly a good _article_!




LETTER XXVII.

TO JACOB SUTHERLAND, ESQ., GENEVA.


Amid the affected disdain, that is so often assumed by the press and
orators of England, when there is occasion to allude to America,
a lively jealousy of the growing power of the republic is easily
discovered. But, one at a distance, like yourself, may not be aware
of the extent to which this feeling is allied with apprehension
of Russia. The wise policy of Alexander created affinities of an
alarming nature between the government of Russia and that of America,
and, mingled with a reluctance to give us fair words and honest
treatment, that goes nigh to choke them, the statesmen, here, are
beginning to feel the necessity of counteracting some of the bad
consequences of their own former blunders.

Heaven bless the Quarterly Review, say I! Although I am far from
boasting of the mental independence of the republic, for few men
can be more strongly impressed with the dangerous character of the
practice that so generally prevails at home, of reasoning and feeling
on all questions of polity like Englishmen, instead of Americans,
I do believe the Quarterly Review has done more towards alienating
the feelings of America from Great Britain, than the two wars, the
commercial rivalries, the orders in council, impressment, the Henry
plot, and all the other points of national dissension, united. This
may sound extravagant, but I am not the only person of this way of
thinking; and it is certain; the facts being too notorious to admit
of dispute, that several of our prominent men, who were formerly most
subject to the Anglo-mania, have beep converted to a more healthful
state of feeling, in consequence of their having been, accidentally,
personal sharers in the abuse that has been so lavishly heaped on
the nation. I have laughed, heartily, at the writhings of a certain
instructor, under whom you and I, when boys, were condemned to hear
all things English lauded to the skies, but who, having been roughly
handled, as a writer, in this very Quarterly, has since come out
manfully in vindication, as it is called, of the country, or, in
other words of its _things_, and, in reality, of himself.

This is a species of independence of which their will never be
a lack. Let us, be grateful, however, for this much, and thank
our stars and the Quarterly, accordingly. When I rejoice in the
alienation of the feelings of America from England, it is not that
I could wish to see our own nation on worse terms with this, than
with any other, but, under the full conviction that we must pass
through some such process of alienation, before we shall ever
get to consider the English in the only mode that is either safe
or honourable for one independent people to regard another. The
constant infusion of new prejudices and partialities, by the agency
of emigrants, and the manner in which we are obliged to depend on
England for our literature, has rendered the change singularly slow,
nor does it strike me that what is actually going on, is taking
the right direction. We no longer believe that an English apple is
better than an American apple, it is true; or even an English hog,
or a horse; but, we do not the less believe in English political
principles, although nothing can be more apparent than the fact
that these principles have been established as a consequence of a
factitious, and, in some measure, a fortuitous condition of society,
to which our own system is, perhaps, more antagonist than that of any
other Christian state.

Keeping the question of our moral dependence out of view, and
returning to this country, I think the jealousy of Russia is about
to produce a change of policy as respects America. It is quite
impossible for one never out of America, to appreciate the nature and
extent of the interest that all the higher classes, here, feel in
their foreign policy. In America, we are almost in a state of nature,
as regards every thing of the sort, the world furnishing no example
perhaps of a people so much neglecting all the great interests that
are not placed immediately before their eyes.[17] Did the people of
the United States understand their true situation, the intentions,
expectations, and wishes of this part of the world, they would at
once exhibit a naval force, that should demonstrate the hazards of
incurring their just resentment.

Some of our early diplomatists in Europe, when men of talents and
character were alone employed in such situations, speak of the
reasons they had for distrusting the intentions of England, on the
subject of our independence, but I have lately been astonished
at hearing it suggested, here, that this government has not yet
absolutely abandoned the project of attempting re-colonization. It
is probable that this opinion is now exaggerated, but that such a
scheme did exist, until within the last fifteen or twenty years,
I make no doubt. There is a remarkable expression in an article
of the Edinburgh Review, that appeared shortly after the peace of
1815. I quote from memory, but the words were nearly these, and
as to the idea it is accurate, the subject of the article being
America—“_We presume that the project of re-colonization is at length
abandoned!_” Such a remark would not have been made causelessly. But
I have, myself, been present when this subject was discussed, in
Paris, by men who are in the secrets of states, and I well remember
the surprise I felt at hearing the possibility of re-colonization
suggested. On that occasion, when I gave the failure in 1776, as a
proof of the impracticability of such a project at this late day, I
was significantly reminded of the hundred millions that England had
subjugated in India.

One thing is certain; we estimate our own security, very differently
from what it is estimated here. It is the expectation of Europe
generally, and of England especially, that we shall separate; and
to this end, it is probable that the efforts of those who plot our
overthrow will be directed. Little, I might almost say nothing, is
known in America, of the means that are employed by the privileged
classes of Europe to maintain their ascendancy. We have heard a great
deal of the machinations of infidelity, and of the infamous schemes
of demagogues to overturn the existing order of things, in these
governments, but scarcely a whisper has been breathed against the
plots and inexcusable agencies that are universally attributed to
the friends of despotism and aristocracy, by the friends of liberty.
Little accustomed to think for ourselves, and with a corrupt and
interested press, we have lent greedy ears to _ex-parte_ testimony,
and, ready enough to oppose the principles of the Age of Reason and
of the Illuminati, we have overlooked the essential circumstance that
they are merely the reaction of extreme abuses, and that the root of
the evil lies deeper than the disgusting excesses which have been so
zealously paraded before our eyes. I can know no more of the past
than what I hear; but the fairest minded men of France have assured
me of their deep conviction, that the machinations of their enemies
were principally instrumental in bringing about the horrors of their
own revolution. No one pretends that it is unnatural for those who
have been ruthlessly depressed, to break out in acts of violence
when suddenly released, but they believe that agents were employed
to excite these passions to fury, and that, finding it impossible to
stay the torrent of revolution by resistance, the privileged here,
directed their schemes to bringing it into disrepute, by inciting
the people to acts that would be certain to offend humanity. One
anecdote related to me by General Lafayette, in person, I consider so
remarkable that it shall be repeated, substituting, however, initials
of names that do not apply to those that were actually mentioned, as
some of the parties are still living. I select this anecdote from a
hundred, because I so well know the integrity of the party from whom
it is derived, that I feel confident there is no exaggeration or
colouring in the account, and because it is, fortunately, in my power
to prove that I had it from General Lafayette, almost in the words in
which it is given to you.

We were conversing on the subject of the probable agency of the
monarchs and aristocrats of Europe, in bringing about the excesses
of the revolution. “Count N—— was in England during the peace of
Amiens,” said our venerable friend, “and he dined with Lord G——, one
of Mr. Pitt’s cabinet. They were standing together at a window of
the drawing-room, when Lord G—— pointed to a window of a house at a
little distance, and said “that is the window of the room in which
F—— lodged, when in England.” “F——,” exclaimed Count N——, “what can
you know, my Lord, of such a man as F——!” The English minister smiled
significantly, and replied “why, _we sent him to France_.”

By substituting for “Count N——” the name of a Frenchman who has been
a minister under nearly every government in France for the last forty
years, and whose private and public character is one of the best of
that country; for that of Lord G——, a well-known English statesman;
and that of F——, one of the greatest monsters to which the Reign of
Terror gave birth, you will have the story almost in the words in
which it was related to me by General Lafayette, who told me he had
it from Count N——, himself.

Had this anecdote appeared in one of the newspaper comments of
the day, I should think less of it, but coming as it did, from a
distinguished Frenchman, and he of better reputation than most of
the politicians of the period, to a man like Lafayette, who is so
perfectly free from the vice of attributing base motives to even
his enemies, and this in a free and friendly conversation, with no
apparent reason to misrepresent, I confess it has struck me as worthy
of more than ordinary consideration.

When we remember how natural it is to employ the most obvious
agencies in effecting our objects, one is not to be surprised
that the scheme of pushing the popular feelings into extremes,
should suggest itself, on such an occasion; and, as for any
restraint imposed by principles, men are so apt to shift a divided
responsibility from their own shoulders to those of their associates,
so ready to look for justification in the end, and always so much
disposed, in politics, to consider “_une faute_” more heinous than
“_un crime_,” that I have no difficulty in believing the story,
on the score of any moral scruples in the parties. The avowal
might cause surprise, but it was two old soldiers talking over the
different _ruses_ of their late campaigns, and surprising things of
the sort leak out in this way.

Mr. Huskisson was a student of medicine in Paris, at the commencement
of the French revolution. The French openly accuse him of having worn
the _bonnet rouge_, and of having belonged to the most exaggerated of
the Jacobins. They add that he was suddenly lost sight of, and when
next seen was in the employment of the British government. All this
may be true, however, and still no more than a natural consequence
of youth and inexperience. Had Mr. Huskisson been less equivocal
in his commercial ethics, and more consistent with his own avowed
principles, the circumstance would not have much weight with me, for
nothing is more natural than for a young mind to be carried away by
sentiments that appear to be generous; but I hold it to be a pretty
safe rule that the man who is jesuitical on any one fact, is to be
distrusted on all others. That Mr. Huskisson is self-contradicted and
insincere in his Free Trade doctrines, is as obvious as any moral
truth I know.

But, admitting that both these tales are idle, it would be folly
for an American to shut his eyes to the confidence with which even
the women, here, speak of the dismemberment of the Union. This is
the point to which our enemies will be certain to direct their
machinations; and if we wish “to calculate its value” to ourselves,
we have only to regard the importance that is attached to it, by our
enemies. You will judge of my surprise, when a young girl, under
twenty years, told me very cooly, in answer to some pleasantry that
had passed between us, on the subject of national power, “Oh, but
your Union will soon be dissolved!”

Mr. Cobbett, who, though any thing but authority in matters of fact,
is a shrewd thinker, and is accustomed to appreciate the means and
agencies of states, has just declared in his journal, that, unless
we abandon the protective policy, England ought to manifest her real
power, and “blow their boasted Union to the winds.” Here we have
a specimen of the ethics as well of the means employed, in such
matters, by politicians. Unless we abandon a legitimate policy of our
own, the social firebrand is to be lighted in our bosom! This savours
strongly of the principles contained in the anecdote of General
Lafayette. It will be said, however, that Mr. Cobbett is authority
for nothing. But other journals have said, in substance, the same
thing, and, I think, such is the tone of most political men, here.
I have said that we overrate our security. A people, as much in the
habit of looking to another nation for opinions, as our own, cannot
be otherwise than dependent, to a certain degree, on the mercy of
those who give them their impulses. No one can deny that we receive
from England a vast deal that is excellent and useful, and it will be
the cue of those who wish to influence us to our own injury, to mix
their poison so artfully with this wholesome nutriment, that the two
shall be swallowed together. Coupled with the most inflated boastings
about American literature, in the journals, we may constantly see
statements that such and such a work is republished in England,
or has gone to a second edition in this country, as the highest
eulogium that can be given. Much the greater proportion of our
writers still manifest a dependance on English opinion, a dread of
its censure, and a desire to secure its favour, in a way that cannot
easily be mistaken. God forbid! that any one should indulge in the
low calumnies that mark equally ignorance and vulgarity; but it is
painful to see the truckling manner in which flattery and homage are
interwoven in so many of our works, with a manifest design to secure
the favour of a people, who do not care to conceal their contempt. In
my own case, how often have I had occasion to see the influence of
this spirit, by having it tauntingly thrown into my teeth that such
and such abuse has appeared in some English journal—perhaps such and
such a puff, by way of flattery! There is not an American writer, at
this moment, who does not lie at the mercy of the English critics,
should they consider him of sufficient importance to notice; and
there are symptoms that this country begins to think seriously, if
indeed it has not long thought, of influencing the reputation of our
political men. That such are their own opinions of their own power is
sufficiently manifest, for they openly boast of it in the newspapers.
Obvious attempts are made to influence opinion even in France, a
country that is singularly deaf to foreign impressions; and if they
can excite a comment in France, they can convulse America.

In regarding this subject, the feelings and dispositions of the
English nation are to be kept out of sight; for the human impulses
of bodies of men are of no account in the control of interests
like these: they who move the wires are behind the scenes, and the
mass here, like the mass at home, is wrought on in a way that is
perceptible only to the vigilant and the observing. But it is a
humiliating fact, accompanying these circumstances, that the English
see their influence, and deride us for it, even while they exercise
it.

Some peculiarities of a physical nature serve to aid foreigners in
perpetuating their power over the American mind. The population is
so diffused, that, unless in cases which excite local interest,
there is no opinion sufficiently strong to cope with that which is
formed in the towns, and these towns, particularly those of the most
influence, are quite as much foreign as American. A large portion of
even the presses, in the seaports, are directly controlled by men
who were born British subjects, and it is a peculiarity about these
people, scarcely ever to forget their origin. There is an infatuation
in America, on this subject, that one who stands aloof, can hardly
credit. Still, when we come to look into all the causes, it can
scarcely create surprise that the writers of the nation, look as much
to foreign as to native approbation, that the diplomatists court
their enemies, instead of their friends, and that public opinion is
constantly influenced by interests and rights adverse to our own.

God knows, what is to be the final result. We may grow out of this
weakness, as children get the better of the rickets; or we may
succumb to the disease, as children often do. There is little use,
however, in treating it with an overstrained delicacy, for it is the
school of sentimentalists that has aggravated the disease to its
present dangerous extent, and nothing will be so apt to cure it,
besides time, as a little caustic, properly applied. I very well
know, it is said, that the war of 1812, liberated the American mind
from its ancient thraldom, and for a time it did; so did the war of
the revolution; but no sooner did things, in both instances, revert
back to their ancient channels, than the habits of thought appear to
have kept them company. We have gained a little, permanently, beyond
a question. No one thinks now, that a British frigate has only to
say, “boh!” to an American frigate, to cause her to strike her flag;
but this very point of manhood in the field, will prove the tendency
to drop back into the old train of thinking, for, in despite of all
the experience of 1776, thousands and tens of thousands of native
citizens, believed we could not resist the English, when war was
declared in 1812, either ashore or afloat! I do not mean, that they
believed the power of America could not resist the power of England,
but that the man of America could not fight the man of England;
for to this had the uninterrupted practice of reading the English
accounts of themselves, brought the state of public opinion. As no
nation has shown a better spirit in the field, when actually called
on to serve, does not this fact prove how completely courage is a
matter of convention, and how necessary it is to guard all the habits
of thought?

There is a feature of English jealousy, that strikes me as
particularly odd. Every one reasons here, as if our government is
always to be distrusted on account of its tendency to be driven into
wars, by the truculent spirit of the democracy! I should say this
notion haunts the English imagination, on the subject of America,
though it would be difficult to give a good reason for it. The war
of 1812, probably took our enemy by surprise, but it could not have
been because the people of America rushed into it with precipitation,
but because they had forborne so long as to remove every apprehension
of their appealing to force at all. There is a professed distrust of
General Jackson on this account. They think, or affect to think, that
being a soldier, he will profit by the elements of democracy, and
bring on a war of conquest, with a view to his own glory and tastes.
Some do not hesitate to say, that he will then aim at a crown, like
Napoleon![18]




LETTER XXVIII.

TO RICHARD COOPER, ESQUIRE, COOPERSTOWN, NEW YORK.


It would be an occupation of interest, to note the changes, moral
and physical, that time, climate, and different institutions, have
produced between the people of England, and those of America.

Physically, I do not think the change as great as is usually
imagined. Dress makes a sensible difference in appearance, and I find
that the Americans, who have been under the hands of the English
tailors, are not easily distinguished from the English themselves.
The principal points of distinction strike me to be these. We are
taller, and less fleshy; more disposed to stoop; have more prominent
features, and faces less full; are less ruddy, and more tanned; have
much smaller hands and feet, anti-democratical as it may be; and are
more slouching in gait. The exceptions, of course, are numerous, but
I think these distinctions may be deemed national. The American, who
has become Europeanized by dress, however, is so very different a
looking animal, from what he is at home, that too much stress is not
to be laid on them. Then the great extent of the United States is
creating certain physical differences in our own population, that
render all such comparisons liable to many qualifications.

As to stature, and physical force, I see no reason to think the
animal has deteriorated in America. As between England and the old
Atlantic states, the difference is not striking, after one allows for
the disparity in numbers, and the density of the population here, the
eye always seeking exceptions; but, I incline to believe that the
southwest will turn the scale to our side. I believe it to be a fact,
that the aborigines of that portion of the Union, were larger than
those of our own section of the country.

There are obvious physical differences among the English themselves.
One county is said to have an undue proportion of red heads, another
to have men taller than common, this again men that are shorter, and
all to show traces of their remote origins. It is probable, that some
of these peculiarities have descended to ourselves, though they have
become blended by the unusual admixture of the population.

Morally, we live under the influence of systems so completely the
converse of each other, that it is matter of surprise, so many points
of resemblance still remain. The immediate tendency of the English
system is, to create an extreme deference in all the subordinate
classes for their superiors, while that of the American is to run
into the opposite feeling. The effects of both these tendencies, are
certainly observable, though relatively, that of our own much less,
I think, than that of England. It gives good models a rather better
chance here, than they have with us.

In England, the disaffected to the government, are among precisely
those who most sustain government in America; and the disaffected in
America, (if so strong a word can properly be used, as applied to
natives,) are of a class whose interests it is to sustain government
in England.[19] These facts give very different aspects to the
general features of society. Walking in Regent’s street, lately, I
witnessed an attempt of the police, to compel some hackney coachmen
to quit their boxes, and go with them before the magistrate. A
crowd of a thousand people collected immediately, and its feeling
was decidedly against the ministers of the law; so much so, indeed,
as to render it doubtful, whether the coachmen, whose conduct had
been flagrantly criminal, would not be rescued. Now, in America, I
think, the feeling of such a crowd, would have been just the other
way. It would have taken an interest in supporting the authorities
of the country, instead of an interest in opposing them. This was
not the case of a mob, you will remember, in which passion puts down
reason, but an ordinary occurrence of the exercise of the power of
the police. Instances of this nature, might be multiplied, to show
that the mass of the two people, act under the influence of feelings
diametrically opposed to each other.

On the other hand, Englishmen of the higher classes are, with very
few exceptions, and these exceptions are usually instances of mere
party opposition, attached to their system, sensitive on the subject
of its merits or defects, and ever ready to defend it when assailed.
The American of the same class is accustomed to sneer at democracy,
to cavil at its fruits, and to colour and exaggerate its faults.
Though this latter disposition may be, to a degree, accounted for by
the facts, that all merit is comparative, and most of our people
have not had the opportunities to compare; and that it is natural to
resist most that which most annoys, although the substitution of any
other for the actual system would produce even greater discontent;
still, I think, the general tendency of aristocratical institutions
on the one hand, and of democratical on the other, is to produce this
broad difference in feeling, as between classes.

Both the Americans and the English are charged with being offensively
boastful and arrogant, as nations, and too much disposed to compare
themselves advantageously with their neighbours. I have visited
no country in which a similar disposition does not exist, and
as communities are merely aggregations of men, I fancy that the
disposition of a people to take this view of their own merits, is
no more than carrying out the well-known principle of individual
vanity. The English and ourselves, however, well may, and probably do
differ from other nations, in one circumstance connected with such a
failing. The mass in both nations, are better instructed, and are of
more account than the mass in other countries, and their sentiments
form more of a public opinion than elsewhere. When the bulk of a
people are in a condition to make themselves heard, one is not to
expect much refinement or delicacy, in the sentiments they utter. The
English do not strike me as being a vainer nation than the French,
although, in the way of ordinary intercourse, I believe that both
they and we are more boastful.

The English are to be particularly distinguished from the Americans,
in the circumstance of their being proud people. This is a useful
and even an ennobling quality, when it is sustained by facts, though
apt to render a people both uncomfortable and unpleasant, when the
glory on which they pique themselves is passed away. We are almost
entirely wanting in national pride, though abundantly supplied
with an irritable vanity, that might rise to pride, had we greater
confidence in our facts. Most intelligent Englishmen are ready enough
to admit the obvious faults of their climate, and even of their
social condition, but it is an uncommon American that will concede
any thing material, on such points, unless it can be made to bear
on democracy. We have the sensitiveness of provincials, increased
by the consciousness of having our spurs to earn, on all matters of
glory and renown, and our jealousy extends even to the reputations
of the cats and dogs. It is but an indifferent compliment to human
nature to add, that the man who will join, complacently, and I may
say ignorantly, in the abuse of foreigners against the institutions
of the country, and even against its people, always reserving a
saving clause in favour of his own particular class, will take fire
if an innuendo is hazarded against its beef, or a suggestion made
that the four thousand feet of the Round Peak, are not equal to
the thirteen thousand of the _Jung Frau_. The English are tolerably
free from this weakness, and travelling is daily increasing this
species of liberality, at least. I presume that the insular situation
of England, and our own distance from Europe, are equally the
causes of these traits, though there may be said to be a “property
qualification” in the very nature of man, that disposes him to view
his own things with complacency, and those of his neighbours with
distrust. Bishop Heber, in one of his letters to Lord Grenville,
in speaking of the highest peaks of the Himalayas, throws into a
parenthesis, “which I feel some exultation in saying, is completely
within the limits of the British empire,” a sort of sentiment, of
which, I dare say, neither St. Chrysostom nor Polycarp was entirely
free.

On the subject of sensibility to comments on their national habits
and national characters, neither France nor England is by any means
as philosophical or indifferent as one might suppose. As a rule, I
believe all men are more easily enraged when their real faults are
censured, than when their virtues are called in question; and, if
the defect happen to be unavoidable, or one for which they are not
fairly responsible, the resentment is twofold that which would attend
a comment on a vice. The only difference I can discover between the
English and ourselves, in this particular, is easily to be traced
to our greater provincialism, youth, and the consciousness that we
are obliged to anticipate some of our renown. I should say that the
English are _thin-skinned_, and the Americans _raw_. Both resent
fair, frank, and manly comments with the same bad taste, resorting
to calumny, blackguardism, and abuse, when wit and pleasantry would
prove both more effective and wiser, and, perhaps, reformation,
wisest of all. I can only account for this peculiarity, by supposing
that the institutions and political facts of the two countries have
rendered vulgar-minded men of more account, than is usually the case,
and that their influence has created a species of public opinion
which is less under the correction of taste, principles, and manners,
than is the case in nations where the mass is more depressed. Of the
fact, itself, there can be no question.

In order to appreciate the effect of refinement on this nation, it
will be necessary to recur to some of its statistical facts. England,
including Wales, contains rather less than fifty-eight thousand
square miles of territory; the state of New York, about forty-three
thousand. On the former surface, there is a population of something
like fifteen millions; on the latter, a population of less than two.
One gives a proportion of about two hundred and sixty to the square
mile, and the other a proportion of less than fifty. These premises,
alone, would show us the immense advantage that any given portion of
surface in England, must possess over the same extent of surface in
America, in all those arts and improvements, that depend on physical
force. If there were ten men of education, and refinement, and
fortune, in a county of New York, of one thousand square miles in
extent, there ought to be more than fifty men of the same character
and means, in an English county of equal territory. This is supposing
that the real premises offer nothing more against us, than the
disproportion between numbers and surface; whereas, in fact, time,
wealth, and an older civilization, more than quadruple the odds. Even
these do not make up the sum of the adverse elements. Though England
has but fifteen millions of souls, the empire she controls has nearly
ten times that population, and a very undue proportion of the results
of so great a physical force, centre in this small spot.

The consideration of these truths suggest several useful heads of
reflection. In the first place, they show us, if not the absolute
impossibility, the great improbability, that the civilization,
refinement, knowledge, wealth, and tastes of even the best portions
of America, can equal those of this country, and suggest the
expediency of looking to either points for our sources of pride.
I have said, that the two countries act under the influence of
moral agencies that are almost the converse of each other. The
condensation of improvement and cultivation is so great here, that
even the base of society is affected by it, even to deportment;
whereas, with us, these properties are so dispersed, as to render
it difficult for those who are lucky enough to possess them, to keep
what they have got, in face of the overshadowing influence of a
lower school, instead of being able to impart them to society. Our
standard, in nearly all things, as it is popular, is necessarily
one of mediocrity; a highly respectable, and, circumstances
considered, a singularly creditable one, but still a mediocrity;
whereas; the condition of these people has enabled them to raise a
standard, which, however much it may be and is wanting in the better
elements of a pure taste, has immensely the advantage of our own,
in most of the obvious blandishments of life. More than half of the
peculiarities of America, peculiarities for which it is usual to seek
a cause in the institutions, simply because they are so peculiar
themselves, are to be traced to facts like these; or, in other words,
to the disproportion between surface and numbers, the want of any
other than commercial towns, and our distance from the rest of the
world.

Every condition of society has its own advantages, and its own
disadvantages. To claim perfection for any one, in particular,
would be to deny the nature of man. Their comparative merits are
to be decided, only, by the comparative gross results, and it is
in this sense, that I contend for the superiority of our own. The
utilitarian school, as it has been popularly construed, is not to my
taste, either, for I believe there is great utility in the grace
and elegance of life, and no one would feel more disposed to resist
a system, in which these essential properties are proscribed. That
we are wanting in both, I am ready to allow; but I think the reason
is to be found in facts entirely independent of the institutions,
and that the time will come, when the civilization of America will
look down that of any other section of the world, if the country can
pass that state of probation, during which it is and will be exposed
to the assaults of secret combinations to destroy it; and during
which, moreover, it is, in an especial degree, liable to be affected
by inherited opinions, and opinions that have been obtained under
a system that has so many of the forms, while it has so few of the
principles of our own, as easily to be confounded with it, by the
ignorant and the unreflecting.

We over-estimate the effects of intelligence, as between ourselves
and the English. The mass of information, here, probably exceeds
that of America, though it is less equally distributed. In _general_
knowledge of a practical nature, too, I think no people can compete
with our own. But there is a species of information, that is both
useful and refining, in which there are few European nations that do
not surpass us. I allude, in particular, to most things that serve
to embellish life. In addition to this superiority, the Europeans
of the better classes very obviously possess over us an important
advantage, in their intimate associations with each other, by which
means they insensibly imbibe a great deal of current knowledge, of
which the similar classes in America are nearly ignorant; or, which,
if known at all, is only known through the medium of books. In the
exhibition of this knowledge, which embraces all that belongs to what
is commonly termed a knowledge of the world, the difference between
the European and the American is the difference to be seen between
the man who has passed all his days in good society, and the man who
has got his knowledge of it from novels and plays.

In a correct estimate of their government, and in an acquaintance
with its general action, the English are much our superiors, though
we know most of details. This arises from the circumstances that
the rights of an Englishman are little more than franchises, which
require no very profound examination to be understood, while those of
the American depend on principles that demand study, and which are
constantly exposed to the antagonist influence of opinions that have
been formed under another system. It is true the English monarchy,
as a monarchy and as it now exists, is a pure mystification, but the
supremacy of parliament being admitted, there can arise no great
difficulty on the score of interpretation. The American system,
moreover, is complicated and double, and the only true Whig and Tory
parties that can exist must have their origin in this circumstance.
To these reasons may be added the general fact, that the educated
Englishman reasons on his institutions like an Englishman only,
while his American counterpart oftener reasons on the institutions of
the republic like an Englishman too, than like an American. A single
fact will show you what I mean, although a hundred might be quoted.
In England the government is composed, in theory, of three bases and
one summit; in America, it is composed of one base and three summits.
In one, there is supposed to be a balance in the powers of the
state; and as this is impossible in practice, it has resulted in a
consolidated authority in its action; in the other, there is but one
power, that of the entire people, and the balance is in the action of
their agents. A very little reflection will show that the maxims of
two such systems ought to be as different as the systems themselves.

The English are to be distinguished from the Americans, by greater
independence of personal habits. Not only the institutions, but the
physical condition of our own country has a tendency to reduce us
all to the same level of usages. The steam-boats, the over-grown
taverns, the speculative character of the enterprises, and the
consequent disposition to do all things in common, aid the tendency
of the system in bringing about such a result. In England a man dines
by himself, in a room filled with other hermits; he eats at his
leisure; drinks his wine in silence; reads the paper by the hour,
and, in all things, encourages his individuality and insists on his
particular humours. The American is compelled to submit to a common
rule; he eats when others eats; sleeps when others sleep; and he is
lucky, indeed, if he can read a paper in a tavern without having a
stranger looking over each shoulder.[20] The Englishman would stare
at a proposal that should invade his habits under the pretence of a
common wish, while the American would be very apt to yield tacitly,
though this common wish should be no more than an impudent assertion
of some one who had contrived to affect his own purposes, under the
popular plea. The Englishman is so much attached to his independence
that he instinctively resists every effort to invade it, and nothing
would be more likely to arouse him than to say the mass thinks
differently from himself; whereas the American ever seems ready
to resign his own opinion to that which is made to seem to be the
opinion of the public. I say _seems_ to be, for so manifest is the
power of public opinion, that one of the commonest expedients of all
American managers, is to create an impression that the public thinks
in a particular way, in order to bring the common mind in subjection.
One often renders himself ridiculous by a foolish obstinacy, and
the other is as often contemptible by a weak compliance. A portion
of what may be called the _community_ of character and habits in
America, is doubtless owing to the rustic nature of its society,
for one more easily maintains his independence in a capital than
in a village, but I think the chief reasons are to be found in the
practice of referring every thing to the common mind.

It is usual to ascribe the solitary and unsocial habits of English
life, to the natural dispositions of the people, but I think
unjustly. The climate is made to bear the blame of no small portion
of this peculiarity. Climate, probably, has an influence on us all,
for we know that we are more elastic, and more ready to be pleased
in a clear bracing air, than in one that is close and _sciroccoish_,
but, on the whole I am led to think, the English owe their habits to
their institutions, more than to any natural causes.

I know no subject, no feeling, nothing, on which an Englishman, as
a rule, so completely loses sight of all the better points of his
character, on which he is so uniformly bigotted and unjust, so ready
to listen to misrepresentation and caricature, and so unwilling to
receive truth, on which, in short, he is so little like himself in
general, as on those connected with America.

As the result of this hasty and imperfect comparison, I am led to
believe, that a national character somewhere between the two, would
be preferable to either, as it is actually found. This may be saying
no more than that man does not exist in a condition of perfection;
but were the inequalities named, pared off from both people, an
ingenious critic might still find faults of sufficient magnitude,
to preserve the identity with the human race, and qualities of
sufficient elevation, to entitle both to be considered among the
greatest and best nations of modern, if not of any other, times.

In most things that pertain to taste, the English have greatly the
advantage of us, though _taste_ is certainly not the strong side of
English character. On this point, alone, one might write a book,
but a very few remarks must now satisfy you. In nothing, however,
is this superiority more apparent, than in their simplicity, and,
particularly, in their simplicity of language. They call a spade, a
spade. I very well know, that neither men nor women, in America, who
are properly educated, and who are accustomed to its really better
tone, differ much, if any, from the English in this particular, but,
in this case, as in most others, in which _national_ peculiarities
are sought, the better tone of America is overshadowed by its
mediocrity.[21] Although I deem the government of this country the
very quintessence of hocus pocus, having scarcely a single practice
that does not violate its theory, I believe that there is more
honesty of public sentiment in England, than in America. The defect
at home, I ascribe, in common with the majority of our national
failings, to the greater activity, and greater _unresisted_ force of
ignorance and cupidity, there, than here. High qualities are nowhere
collected in a sufficient phalanx to present a front to the enemy, in
America.

The besetting, the degrading vice of America, is the moral cowardice
by which men are led to truckle to what is called public opinion;
though this opinion is as inconstant as the winds, though, in all
cases, that enlist the feelings of factions there are _two_, and
sometimes twenty, each differing from all the others, and though,
nine times in ten, these opinions are mere engines set in motion by
the most corrupt and the least respectable portion of the community,
for unworthy purposes. The English are a more respectable and
constant nation than the Americans, as relates to this peculiarity;
probably, because the condensed masses of intelligence and character
enable the superior portion of the community to produce a greater
impression on the inferior, by their collective force. In standing
prejudices, they strike me as being worse than ourselves; but in
passing impressions greatly our superiors.

For the last I have endeavoured to account, and I think the first may
be ascribed to a system that is sustained by errors that it is not
the interest of the more enlightened to remove, but which, instead of
weakening in the ignorant, they rather encourage in themselves.




LETTER XXIX.

TO CAPTAIN B. COOPER, U. S. NAVY.


Having a long-standing engagement to be in Amsterdam, early in June,
we have been compelled to quit London, before the termination of the
season. I could have wished to remain longer, but the force of things
has moved heavier bodies.

Quitting England is, by no means, as easy a matter for a foreigner,
as quitting almost any other European state. I was obliged to go
first to the alien office, which is near Westminster Hall, and then
proceed to the custom-house, a distance of several miles, in order
to get the required permission. If all these forms are necessary,
(and I shall not take it on myself to say they are not) it would save
trouble could every thing be done in the same office, or, at least,
in the same building.

My labours in obtaining the permit to embark, and in taking a
passage, have taught me a secret in relation to the advantage
we possess over the English in sailing ships. The excess of men
causes all occupations to be crowded, and as each _employé_ must
have a livelihood out of his employment, he becomes a charge on
the business. If an Englishman could live on a bit of garlic and
a few chesnuts, this would not be of so much moment; but he is a
beef-eating and a beer-drinking animal, and likes to be neat in
his attire, and the trade is compelled to pay a pretty good price
for his support. Thus when I went on board the steamboat to take
the necessary passage, I was compelled to return to the shore, and
walk, at least, half a mile to an office to effect my purpose. The
person to whom I was referred, received me civilly, but after making
his bow, he put his hands in his pockets, and ordered two or three
clerks to receive my money, enter my name, and do the other necessary
things. In America the captain would do all this himself, and would
find no time to put his hands in his breeches pockets.

You can form no notion, of the intrigues and frauds that are
practised, in these old countries, in the struggles for a
subsistence. Few people of any condition have much direct
communication with their tradesmen, and the buying, as a matter of
course, falls into the hands of servants. A certain per centum is
given the buyer, which the seller adds to the price. This is another
reason why the servant is a personage of more importance in Europe
than with us, for his master’s custom usually depends on _his_
patronage. A case of this sort has occurred under my own immediate
observation. The proprietor of one of the most celebrated vineyards
of France, certain that a vast deal of spurious wine was sold under
the name of his vintages, determined to make an effort to bring the
pure liquor into proper notice, a difficult achievement, by the way,
as the palate once set to even a vicious taste, is as little likely
to relish perfection, as any thing else. My acquaintance determined
to get his wine introduced to the table of the king, at once, as a
certain means of making it known. I dare say, now, you will think he
had nothing to do, but to request some purveyor to consent to let the
liquor be put before his majesty, and to await the issue. So far from
taking this simple course, however, he was advised to make interest
with a lady of rank, in order to induce her to persuade a connexion
of her own, who was one of the most distinguished men of the age, and
had great favour with the king, to present the latter with a case of
the wine, and this, too, in a way that might insure its reaching the
royal mouth. I cannot say whether the experiment failed or succeeded,
but I believe it failed, and most probably through the intrigues of
those interested.

In America we have not yet reached this pass, although a glorious
beginning has commenced in the commercial towns, which, in their way,
are probably as corrupt as any in the world. I have seen abundant
proof of a disposition in the trading part of our community, abroad,
to combine and conspire to attain their ends, without regard to
truth, principles, or justice, and I presume we are to go the way of
all flesh in this, as in other respects.

I have not mentioned the subject, because I believe England more
obnoxious to this charge of management than other European countries,
for probably there is less of it here than elsewhere; certainly much
less than in France; but it naturally suggested itself when I came
to speak of the number of subordinates that are employed in all
matters of business.

Our little preparations were soon made, and, on the appointed day,
we went on board the vessel, which was lying off the custom-house.
As we all stood on deck, just as the boat was about to proceed, the
master came round to ask the foreigners for their permits to quit the
country. “You have no need of one,” he observed to me, in passing. “I
have one, notwithstanding.” The man stared, and asked an explanation
with his eyes. I told him I was a foreigner; an American. “I have
been in America,” he said, “but we hardly look on your countrymen as
foreigners.” There was more of the feeling which prevails in America
towards England in these words and in this man’s manner, than I had
ever before witnessed in England. He proved to be a mild decent man,
and well disposed to introduce some of our improvements into his boat.

We had a party of cocknies on board, who went as far as Gravesend for
the fun of the thing. Great hilarity prevailed under the excitement
of the usual condiments of bread, cheese and porter, and we were not
sorry to be quit of them.

The weather was fine, and the North Sea as smooth as a dish. The
whole night were we paddling through it, and the next morning I
looked out, in vain, for any signs of land. Our boat was a solid,
good vessel, but slow of foot. The construction necessary to
weathering a heavy sea, may cause these boats to make less way than
our own steamers, though those which go round Point Judith and
through the Sound have also need of some of the same qualities. As
between them, I think the American boats usually go three feet to the
English’s two.

At length a low spit of sand hove in sight ahead, with here and there
a tree or a church tower, that appeared to rise out of the water.
This was Holland, a country, that, in the language of seamen, may be
said to be awash. As we drew in nearer with the land, the villages
and towers were actually made as one makes the upper sails of a
ship before the hull. When fairly between the islands, by going up
a few rattlins in the rigging, I got a glimpse of meadows that lay
beneath the level of tide, from whose inroads they were protected by
embankments. The whole country reminded me of a ship with its dead
lights in.

I saw a wagon rattling along a causeway, and it was a _fac simile_
of the wagons that go under the name of Dutch wagons in New York,
even to the curvature of the side boards. The only difference I could
perceive was in the fact that this had no tongue! The country is so
level, that holding back is unnecessary, and a short crooked tiller,
that is worked by the foot of the teamster answers the purpose of
guiding the vehicle. This was Dutch economy, with a vengeance,
for the difference in cost could not exceed a guilder, and the
difference in security, time and comfort, must be worth twenty. You
will easily understand, that when it becomes necessary to stop one of
these crafts, sail must be shortened in season, or the momentum would
send the whole on the heels of the horses.

Presently, we got a sight of the steeples of Rotterdam, which were
well relieved by trees. The verdure was oppressive, for the landscape
resembled one seen through a bit of green glass. The boat was soon
along side of the Boom Key, and we were all marched off in a body to
have our trunks examined. Mine were merely opened and closed again.
The passport was glanced at, and we were dismissed to a hotel. Before
we entered the latter I had time to look about me, and to see a
hundred things that recalled Albany and New York as they appeared in
their palmy Dutch condition.

Here, then, we take our leave of England for a time;—England, a
country that I could fain like, but whose prejudices and national
antipathies throw a chill over all my affections; a country that
unquestionably stands at the head of civilization in a thousand
things, but which singularly exemplifies a truth that we all
acknowledge, or how much easier it is to possess great and useful,
and even noble qualities, than it is to display those that are
attractive and winning—a country that all respect, but few love.


THE END.




FOOTNOTES:

[1] The present Duke of Sutherland.

[2] In speaking of personal peculiarities, the writer thinks he has
had sufficient care not to wound the parties. His knowledge of Mrs.
Siddons does not extend farther than an evening’s observation of her
mere exterior, but she is removed beyond the reach of his opinion,
did it apply to things more essential. Of the persons collected
around the table of Mr. Rogers, on the day in question, Sir Walter
Scott, Miss Scott, Sir James Macintosh, Mr. Sharp, and Mr. Jekyll,
are, also, already dead!

[3] The recent improvements in this part of the town, have caused the
house to be pulled down, and it is probable the new avenue, which
leads from the new London bridge to the Royal Exchange, and which, in
1833, promised to make this one of the finest parts of the town, will
have obliterated every sign of its site.

[4] The Examiner, since 1828, has passed into new hands, and,
although little accustomed to see the paper itself, the writer was
in the constant habit of reading extracts from it, in Galignani’s
Messenger. Taking these as specimens of its merit, he is of opinion
that for vigour, consistency, truth, and distinctness of thought, and
for pungent and manly reasoning, this journal stands at the very head
of this species of literature.

[5] In the reign of Queen Anne, out of a little more than twenty
dukes in the empire, six were descended in the direct male line from
the natural sons of King Charles II, viz.: the Dukes of Richmond,
Grafton, Cleveland, Northumberland, St. Albans, and Buccleugh. The
dukedoms of Northumberland and Cleveland, are extinct, though the
titles have been revived in other families; but those of Richmond,
St. Albans, Grafton, and Buccleugh, are still enjoyed by the
descendants of Charles. George I., did not hesitate to ennoble his
mistress, whom he made Duchess of Kendal, and George II., had also
his Countess of Yarmouth. These two women were made peeresses,
because they were the king’s mistresses, but no natural child was
ennobled. George III. was still more guarded in his amours, and
although he is said to have had several natural children, they were
not publicly recognised. The same is true with George IV., though his
manner of life was less guarded. The power of the aristocracy had
now become so great, that it repudiated such admissions into their
ranks. A struggle, however, occurred in 1831, between the different
castes of the state, and the king rose in importance. In order to
conciliate him, the whigs immediately gave a peerage to the eldest of
his natural children by Mrs. Jordan, and ennobled all the others!

[6] Proofs of _naïveté_ and ignorance of the world, are afforded
by most of our travellers, who are the dupes of their own national
conceit, and the more exaggerated forms of Europe. As a people, I
believe, we are in favour in no part of Europe. I could give much
proof on this point, and a good deal will be incidentally introduced
into these letters, but a single anecdote must suffice here. There is
one man who is much visited and flattered by Americans, now living
in England, and divers interesting accounts of his kindness and
philanthropy are published by our tourists annually. Within a month,
conversing with a countryman just returned from a long visit in
Europe, he tells me that an acquaintance of his visited this person,
while he remained at an inn, where he dined with a near relation
of the great man. In the course of conversation, my acquaintance
expressed his apprehension that the visit of —— would annoy ——.
“Not at all,” said the other, who believed his companion to be an
Englishman, “my —— rather likes ——, _for an American_.” There are two
things that every American should understand. In associating with the
English, if he betray the least of the toad-eater, he is despised for
the meanness; this is human nature; if he manifest self-respect, and
a determination to have all the rights of a gentleman, he is hated
for presuming to be an Englishman’s equal.

[7] It is not yet ten years, since this opinion was given. Were the
money that the United States this year distributes among the several
states, as returned revenue, (near 8,000,000 sterling,) appropriated
to a navy, it would _build_ and keep at sea for a twelvemonth,
fifty sail of the line. It is “too bad” that a nation, with such
means, should be so much under the dominion of a false feeling, as
to allow another people to occupy an island like Bermuda, at its
threshold, with no other view than to its own annoyance. The internal
legislation of this country is practically among the best in the
world, while its foreign interests seem to be conducted pretty much
on the Mahometan doctrine of fatalism.

[8] The German Prince speaks of giving the _arm_ instead of the
_hand_, as an English usage. The writer passed five winters in Paris,
and never saw any thing but the arm given.

[9] I am quite aware that it will be affirmed by some of our
_doctrinaires_, the king of England _does_ exercise the prerogatives
of his office. It would be easy to produce proof enough to the
contrary, but take a single case. It is notorious that he wishes a
tory ministry, at this very moment, and it is equally notorious that
he cannot appoint one, on account of parliament. Now his right to
name his ministers is almost the only undisputed prerogative, that
is left him in theory even, for a minister is made responsible for
all the other executive acts. But hear what a witness, whose loyalty
will not be questioned says. “It has affected me very much to hear
of _our king’s being constrained to part with all his confidential
friends, and his own personal servants_ in the late general sweep.
_Out of a hundred stories_, I will only tell you one, which concerns
your old acquaintance Lord Bateman; he went to the king, as usual,
over night, to ask if his majesty would please to hunt the next day:
yes, my lord! replied the king, but I find, _with great grief_, that
I am not to have the satisfaction of your company! This was the
first intimation he had had of the loss of his place; and I really
think the contest with France and America might have been settled,
_though the buck hounds had retained their old master_.” See, letter
of Hannah Moore to her sister, London, 1782. The Plantagenets were
not treated in this fashion, and yet England was said to be governed,
even in their day, by King, Lords, and Commons!

[10] One of the most ludicrous instances I know of the manner in
which terms are abused, in America, was related to me lately, by
Judge ——, of Louisiana. A constable came into court, leading two
knaves, and addressed him, by saying—“Please your Honour, these are
the two _gentlemen_, who stole Col. D——’s horses.”

[11] That the reader may understand the nature and extent of the
prejudices that are inculcated in England, against this country,
I extract a sentence from a _school_ book, of a good deal of
reputation, _written by a clergyman_. The edition is of 1830. “The
women every where possess, in the highest degree, the domestic
virtues; they have more sweetness, more goodness, _perhaps as much
courage_, and more sensibility and liberality, than the men.”
Prejudice must have taken deep root, indeed, in England, where the
bad taste of a sneer on the courage of America, was not self-evident.
One of the best informed men I met in that country, told me, that no
event, in his time, had produced so deep a sensation in England, as
the unexpected and bloody resistance of the _armed population_ to
the British troops, at Bunker Hill. One of the principal causes of
the errors of all Europe, as respects us, is owing to the tact, that
their writers, anxious to attract, deal with exceptions instead of
with the rules. The whole article of “America,” in the book I have
just quoted, betrays this fault. Among other absurdities, it says,
“there are scarcely in the country, twenty native Americans, (meaning
whites, of course,) in the state of domestic servants.” There are,
beyond question, tens of thousands, including both sexes, and all
ages.

[12] While this work is going through the press, Tucker’s Jefferson
has appeared. In allusion to the principles of a memorial written by
himself, Mr. Jefferson’s language is quoted to the following effect.
“The leap I then proposed was too long, as yet, for the mass of our
citizens.” Nearly seventy years have since passed by; we have become
a nation; numerically and physically a _great_ nation; and yet in
how many things that affect the supremacy of English opinion and
English theories, is “the leap” still “too long” for the “mass of our
citizens!” “It is these long leaps,” notwithstanding, that make the
difference between men.

[13] The intelligence of the death of this gentleman has reached
America, while this book is printing. John Loudon McAdam was a native
of Scotland, of the proscribed family of McGregor. He was in the
line of descent to a small estate called Waterhead; but being cut
off from his natural claims, by the act of attainder, he came early
to America, as the adopted son and successor of an uncle, who had
married and established himself in New York. Here he received his
education, and continued seventeen years, or down to the period of
the peace of 1783. Returning to Great Britain, he established himself
at Bristol, near which town he commenced his experiments in roads,
more as an amateur, than with any serious views of devoting himself
to the occupation. Meeting with unlooked for success, he gradually
extended his operations, until he finally transformed most of the
highways of the island, into the best of the known world. For the
last five-and-twenty years, his whole time, and all his studies were
directed to this one end.

Mr. McAdam was twice offered knighthood, and once a baronetcy;
distinctions that he declined. His second son, however, has recently
received the former honour, and is the present Sir James McAdam. As
this gentleman is much employed about London, he is usually mistaken
for the father.

Mr. McAdam was twice married. His first wife was a daughter of
William Nicoll, proprietor of the great manor of Islip, Suffolk
county, Long Island, the collateral representative of Col. Nicoll,
who took the colony from the Dutch, in 1663, and its first English
governor; his second wife was the eldest daughter of John Peter De
Lancey, of Mamaroneck, West Chester, New York.

Mr. McAdam was a man of a singularly calm and contemplative mind,
mingled with an unusual degree of practical energy and skill. Quiet,
modest, intelligent, and upright, few men were more esteemed in
private life; and while few men have conferred more actual benefit on
Great Britain, scarcely any man has been less rewarded. Conscientious
and proud, he was superior to accepting favours that were beneath his
claims, or to soliciting those which were his due.

[14] A proof of this truth, is to be found in the law emancipating
the slaves of the islands, a step which is the certain forerunner of
their loss. It is well known to all near observers, that this measure
was dictated to parliament by the sympathies of a public, to which
momentary causes had given an influence it never before possessed.
Mr. Cobbett, however, openly affirmed it was owing to a wish to
convulse America, by re-acting on public opinion here! One is not
obliged to believe all that Mr. Cobbett said, but such a surmise,
even, proves something.

[15] Captain Hall says, that the houses of America struck him as
being only half furnished. On the other hand, the Duke Bernard, of
Saxe Weimar, who landed in Boston, coming from England, says that he
thought the houses appeared better furnished than those he had just
left in Great Britain. On this testimony, the Quarterly joins issue,
insinuating that no one can hesitate to believe that a _captain
in his majesty’s navy_ is a better judge in these matters than a
mere _German_ Duke! The exquisite twaddle of such reasoning exposes
itself, and yet, in his main fact, Captain Hall is unquestionably
right. So far as we go, our furniture is generally handsomer than
that of England, and Duke Bernard has possibly formed his opinion
from particular houses, but nothing is truer than that the American
houses appear naked to one coming from either France or England.

[16] Quite lately, the writer got into a rail-road car at Bordenton,
at a place where the company have since erected a large warehouse or
shed; some one, observing the signs of a building around the car,
inquired what they meant. The writer, who sat by a window, was about
to say, “They have laid the foundations of a large house here,” when
a fellow-traveller, who occupied the other window, anticipated him,
by saying that, “Judging by external symptoms, they have commenced
the construction of an edifice of considerable magnitude, calculated,
most likely, to facilitate the objects of the rail-road company.”
One would not wish to lose the cause of this disposition to the
grandiose, but it is to be regretted that sublimity is getting to be
so common.

[17] One may form some notion of the condition of the foreign policy
of the country, by a fact that has come to the knowledge of the
writer, under circumstances that leave no doubt, in his mind, of
its authenticity. An American was at Washington applying for some
diplomatic appointment, at the moment Congress had the subject of the
French reprisals, as recommended by the President, before them. Of
so much greater importance did this _diplomatic agent_ deem foreign
than native support, that he is said to have written letters to Paris
assuring his friends there, that neither the nation nor congress
would sustain the president in his proposition! One or more of these
letters came into American hands, and were returned to Washington. In
two instances, while in Europe, the writer found Englishmen employed
in the legations at low salaries; and, of course, the secrets of the
government were put at the disposal of foreign mercenaries.

[18] When General Jackson was running alone, in opposition to
Mr. Adams, the English, under the impressions alluded to, above,
and probably on account of ancient grudges, betrayed a strong
disinclination to his success. Still, Mr. Adams was disliked, for
he was believed to be unfriendly to England, and favourable to the
system of protecting duties. Suddenly, the press of London, altered
its tone in reference to the former, and from lavishing the usual
scurrility, it began to speak of him in terms of respect. It is said
that the English agents in America, notified their government that
they were quarrelling with their bread and butter, and that the
change of policy took place in consequence. These little occurrences
should teach every American, how to appreciate praise, or censure,
that comes from sources so venal. Mr. Adams probably understood the
true foreign policy of the government, better than any political man
who has been in power since the days of Jefferson. The protective
system, the congress of Panama, though defeated in its objects by
hostile influence, and the protest of the administration of Mr.
Monroe, which is understood to have originated with Mr. Adams, are
three of the most elevated, far sighted, and statesman-like measures,
America ever undertook. The former, though run down by English
influence, will quite likely be called for by the very states that
now most oppose it, within the next five-and-twenty years. Nothing
is more probable, than that the Constitution will be amended, solely
with a view to this end, and that the cotton-growing states will
first move in the matter. But for the redeeming act of the president,
in recommending reprisals against France, the writer, a near looker
on for most of the time, should say, that the character of the nation
abroad, suffered much less during the administration of Mr. Adams,
than during that of his successor, though the diplomatic tone was not
what it ought to have been, under either administration. We boast a
great deal of the dexterity with which the nation has got out of a
difficulty, while we entirely overlook the capital fault by which it
got into it. So far from the truculent spirit of democracy, inducing
the government to rush into wars, the craven and temporising spirit
of trade, the only concentrated interest of much available power in
ordinary cases, has prevented it from maintaining the true interests
of the country, in a dozen distinct instances, within the last twenty
years.

[19] When the writer went to Europe, it was so unusual to hear any
thing against the system of America, that disaffection may be said
to have become extinct. On his return, however, after an absence
of less than eight years, he was astonished to hear monarchical
sentiments openly declared, and he believes that it will be generally
admitted by all candid observers, that their avowal is now more
open and more frequent, than they have been at any time, within the
present century. This is not the place to discuss the reasons, but
this explanation is due from the writer, on his own account, as,
without it, a change that has actually taken place among others, may
be ascribed to himself. No one need be ashamed of having honestly
altered his opinions, for good cause, and after mature examination;
but since the publication of these letters has commenced, the writer
has been openly accused of changes that, in point of fact, have
occurred among other people. Another occasion may offer to examine
this point.

[20] Exaggerated as this may appear, the writer has actually been
driven away, by strangers leaning over him, in this manner, no less
than eleven times, at the Astor House, within the last twelvemonths.

[21] Mrs. Butler, in her shrewd work on America, has given many good
hits at this love for the grandiose. Whenever this lady has gone out
of her particular sphere, or that of her sex, her remarks are such
as might have been anticipated from a young English woman, visiting
America with all her political prejudices about her, and almost as
a matter of course, necessarily ignorant of the true machinery and
action of governments. Even in this writer, the expectation, not to
say the _longing_, for a dissolution of the Union, that has been so
often mentioned in these pages, is sufficiently apparent, she, also,
has fallen into the very common error of ascribing things to the
institutions, such for instance as the _nonchalance_ of the trades
people, and the noisy, screeching, hoydenish romps of the sexes,
which it suits the caprices of certain people to term society, when
they ought to be referred, one to the personal independence of a
country prosperous beyond example, and the other to the unsettled
condition of towns, that double their population every twenty years,
and their wealth in ten.

Mrs. Butler has made many other mistakes, beyond a question, for she
has written under erroneous impressions at starting. Of this class
are all the misconceptions connected with those usages that are
thought to be tending daily towards aristocracy. Any one who knows
the country well, knows that in all the ordinary appliances of this
nature, America has been gradually receding from such forms, for the
last forty years. Thus footmen, liveries, hatchments, coats of arms,
&c. &c., are all much less common now, than at the commencement of
the century. Mrs. Butler has mistaken the twilight, for the dawn;
the shadows of the past for those of coming events. This is a common
misapprehension of the English, and it arises from a disposition to
see things in their own way.

The treatment that this lady has received, cannot be too loudly
condemned. She has been derided, caricatured, almost, if not
positively, slandered, because she has presumed to speak the truth
about us! Mrs. Trollope has met with similar denunciations, though
with a greater show of reason, for Mrs. Trollope has calumniated her
own sex in America. Besides, one sees, in the book of Mrs. Trollope,
a malignant feeling, and calculations of profit; while the work of
Mrs. Butler is as honest as it is fearless. The latter has designated
persons too plainly, perhaps, as coupled with unpleasant remarks;
but all these faults may be overlooked, as the whims of a very young
female.

In one thing Mrs. Butler is singularly mistaken. She says that
neither England, nor France, manifests any sensibility on the subject
of the comments of travellers! The French do not, ordinarily,
understand the comments of the English, or the English those of
the French. Neither nation reads nor knows any thing about the
comments of the Americans at all. Nothing is easier than to manifest
indifference to things of which we are totally ignorant. As respects
the English, however, one has only to name Pillet, d’ Haussez, and
Puckler-Muskau, in order to show how much abuse and calumny they can
heap on those whose opinions displease them. The stories circulated
in English society, concerning the latter, by way of retaliation for
his book, were quite on a level with the Trollopeana of America. Both
are a disgrace to civilization.




  TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE

  Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been
  corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within
  the text and consultation of external sources.

  Some hyphens in words have been silently removed, some added,
  when a predominant preference was found in the original book.

  Except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the text,
  and inconsistent or archaic usage, have been retained; for example,
  “cooly” and “coolly” are both valid variants and have been left
  unchanged in the etext.

  Catalog: ‘o. Virginia’ replaced by ‘of Virginia’.
  Pg 13: ‘Lansdown, Grey, and’ replaced by ‘Lansdowne, Grey, and’.
  Pg 31: ‘lath and stuccoe’ replaced by ‘lath and stucco’.
  Pg 34: ‘like Stawberry Hill’ replaced by ‘like Strawberry Hill’.
  Pg 38: ‘is their no analogy’ replaced by ‘is there no analogy’.
  Pg 40: the heading ‘LETTER XVIII.’ replaced by ‘LETTER XVII.’.
  Pg 42: ‘arbritrary selection’ replaced by ‘arbitrary selection’.
  Pg 46: ‘the the truth even, in’ replaced by
         ‘that the truth, even in’.
  Pg 48: ‘hast the merit’ replaced by ‘has the merit’.
  Pg 54: ‘nervous, fidgetty’ replaced by ‘nervous, fidgety’.
  Pg 60: ‘have postively no’ replaced by ‘have positively no’.
  Pg 62: ‘atwhart the cables’ replaced by ‘athwart the cables’.
  Pg 82: ‘adapting both both to’ replaced by ‘adapting both to’.
  Pg 88: ‘scarcely recal’ replaced by ‘scarcely recall’.
  Pg 95, 96: ‘are dependant on’ replaced by ‘are dependent on’.
  Pg 109: ‘Sir James M‘Intosh’ replaced by ‘Sir James Macintosh’.
  Pg 111: ‘these mistatements’ replaced by ‘these misstatements’.
  Pg 119: ‘etherial essence’ replaced by ‘ethereal essence’.
  Pg 121: ‘recal that passage’ replaced by ‘recall that passage’.
  Pg 124: ‘in dicussion, and’ replaced by ‘in discussion, and’.
  Pg 138: ‘one by by one’ replaced by ‘one by one’.
  Pg 173: ‘from her workships’ replaced by ‘from her workshops’.
  Pg 175: ‘results dependant’ replaced by ‘results dependent’.
  Pg 177: ‘are incompatable’ replaced by ‘are incompatible’.
  Pg 192: ‘particularily active, they they have’ replaced by
          ‘particularly active, they have’.
  Pg 207: ‘to corrobate the’ replaced by ‘to corroborate the’.
  Pg 210: ‘is dependant on’ replaced by ‘is dependent on’.
  Pg 214: ‘El Derado’ replaced by ‘El Dorado’.
  Pg 229: ‘than dependant, to’ replaced by ‘than dependent, to’.
  Pg 232: ‘children often die.’ replaced by ‘children often do.’.
  Pg 239: ‘in Regent street’ replaced by ‘in Regent’s street’.
  Pg 242: ‘of the Himilayas’ replaced by ‘of the Himalayas’.
  Pg 253: ‘home, I asscribe’ replaced by ‘home, I ascribe’.
  Pg 257: ‘than elesewhere’ replaced by ‘than elsewhere’.
  Footnote 14: ‘Mr. Cobbet said’ replaced by ‘Mr. Cobbett said’.



*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 74937 ***