Gleanings in Europe. England vol 2 of 2

NEW BOOKS.

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Carey, Lea & Blanchard have lately published,

GLEANINGS IN EUROPE—FRANCE.

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

EXCURSIONS ON THE RHINE, IN SWITZERLAND, &c.

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

SKETCHES OF SWITZERLAND.

Part First, by the same author, in 2 vols. 12mo.

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 Wortley, Sir James Stewart of Colkness, &c., including upwards of one hundred and fifty Letters, hitherto unpublished: a memoir of the Court of George 1st, by Lady Mary Wortley Montague: a sketch of the state of parties by Mr.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.

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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.

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ENGLAND:

BY

AN AMERICAN.

IN TWO VOLUMES.

VOL. II.

PHILADELPHIA:

CAREY, LEA, AND BLANCHARD.

1837.

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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.

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	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

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ENGLAND.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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, 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!

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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.

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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.

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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]

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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!

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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]

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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.

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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.

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