JUNE 10, 1850. NEW-YORK. SECOND SERIES—No. 3.

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Pardon me, Fritz, one word of prolegomenon, as
rebutter to the assurance of those who whisper in
the ears of my publisher, the name of your correspondent.
To say that on no occasion had the right
one been hit upon, would be only to say, that out
of fifty guesses, all were wrong. But this much
may be safely averred,—that not three inhabitants
of the town are cognizant of the authorship. Even
my excellent friend, Mr. Kernot, who for keenness,
will yield to very few of the town wits, is profoundly
ignorant in the matter. Perplexed as he

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has been by pertinacious lady questionings, and by
no gentleman, more than by John Timon himself,
his conjectures at this moment are as wide of the
mark, as those of so shrewd a man can well be.

No one, indeed, connected with the publication,
from printer to proof-reader, has ever had personal
interviews, so far as his knowledge goes, with the
real writer. The MS. has been copied; the letters
have been mailed in different towns and states; and
not the greatest expert of the Boston writing academies,
could find in them sufficiency of evidence,
to convict any single individual—except before a
Boston jury.

I must be allowed also to put on their guard
those young gentlemen, who by conscious looks,
put in an ill-defined claim to authorship; and although
in personal intercourse their winks have
been credited, and pressing inquiries have been
courteously forborne, yet truth will compel me to
an open and decided denial. Those, too, who have
been eager enough to revolve the propriety of calling
upon my printer, are known to me, and would
do well to forbear their pertinacity. A dollar to a
printer's devil may be very acceptable; but even
printers' boys are more tenacious of their honor,
and better guardians of their dignity, than those
who seek to corrupt them, with such knavish artifice.

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`But for our meer gallants, who live in no settled course of life, but
spend half the day in sleeping and half the night in dancing;—as if
they were born for nothing else but to eat and drink, and snort and
sport;—let them know there is not the poorest contemptible creature,
that crieth oysters and kitchen-stuff in the streets, but deserveth his
bread better than they.'

Now that the Academy, with its babies, Governors,
Popes, and asses, is drawing the town-taste after
it, and is warping the mental habit of our ladies
into an easy connoisseurship, I do not know how I
can better fill up my paper, than by sketching a
scene or two, which will revive recollections of the
winter, and which, though they have but a small
amount of likelihood to commend them, will at
least be as fair candidates for charity, as one half
of the portraits upon the walls of `Design.'

`Mrs. Diggs' compliments to J. T., and requests
the pleasure of his company on Thursday—at 9½,
P. M.' (Bon-ton Place, No. 1.)

I hate humbug, Fritz; and fourteen letters now
under your hand, which have gone to combat it in
every shape, and to defend what is earnest and
manly, will confirm, if there be need, my assertion.
I am not, therefore, going to assume that I have
been honored with any such invitation as is written
above. Were it so, it would be an abuse of

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courtesy to record it; and were it not so, it would be
an abuse of truth to avow it. In this dilemma, I
have only to assure you that it is a purely hypothetical
invitation. Mrs. Diggs never wrote it;
John Timon never received it.

But, as in our recent political, as well as natural
philosophy, an hypothesis may sometimes be safely,
if not profitably pursued to its probable results, so
in our town studies, I deem it philosophic to run
out to certain hypothetical issues, the invitation recorded
above.

In virtue of a modest R. S. V. P. au coin, an acceptance
is returned; and this, whatever may be
the real intention, or though in the crowd of engagements—
which it would be well for a man solicitous
for fashionable reputation to plead—the
time may escape attention. But we will suppose
the acceptant fairly accoutred, and in his carriage
at the proper hour, upon the evening designated.
He takes his place in the queue, that stretches the
length of a block; or, if unfashionably early, his
arrival will be announced by a shrill whistle of the
superintendent of affairs, serving as a signal to the
footman in white Berlin gloves, who is on the alert
within the lobby, at No. 1, Bon-ton Place.

He hurries through the brilliantly-lighted hall,
with the merest side-glance into the parlors, to see

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how he is standing for time; and enters, upon the
second or third floor,—as the assemblage may be
for size, and the mansion for room,—the apartment
appropriated to gentlemen. And here, I shall be
opening to the eyes of the ladies themselves a little
budget that is fairly behind the scenes, and nothing
but the fact of its being purely hypothetical,
could possibly excuse my indiscretion.

In a corner, with his back quite accidentally
turned to the few persons who are present, the
novice cautiously unrolls a brown paper wrapper,
and sets himself to the task of drawing on a very
shoppy-smelling pair of gloves, with all the earnestness
of a man bent on some important pursuit.

The old stager of the balls, our town beau, on the
contrary, applies himself carelessly to a pair of kids,
which by cautious usage, and a little application of a
wheaten crust, may possibly do as effective service at
to-morrow's opera, as they did yesterday. He prefaces
this, however, by dusting his boots with a silk
handkerchief, brought for the purpose in the pocket
of his `coachman.' As he adjusts his gloves, he
moves back and forth — more from force of habit
than real intent—before the mirror, and casts casual
glances at himself, which return the interest of
a quiet and sober satisfaction. He dresses his hair

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or moustache with an air of a connoisseur, and
drops his remarks here and there to acquaintances,
between touches of the brush, with a most delectable
softness, and pliancy of tongue.

The boy, in the very stiff collar and broadarmed
cravat, who by his movement and downward
glances, seems not quite sure whether his boots
pinch him or not,—takes off as much as possible
from the verdancy of his years by a noisy hilarity,
and an abandon, which give show of intimate
previous acquaintance —not so much with fashionable
circles, as with a fashionable glass of brandy
and water. He talks in amazingly flippant style
of Miss so and so, using the first names in a very audible
under tone, and impressing timid adventurers,
such as John Timon, with an enlarged idea of his
attractions and importance. He gives still farther
proof of his ease, and (as Mr. Willis would say) his
at-home-ativeness, by great constancy at the dressing-table,
and a very diligent and assiduous use of
the brush.

The married gentleman, whose wife is arranging
fixtures in an adjoining room, moves about
uneasily — glances at his watch, and wonders when
Dolly will be ready; and consoles himself with adjusting
a pair of gloves that need very little coax

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ing to the hand. His special delight is to sit down
in the corner with some fellow-martyr, and talk
over the day's sales at the `board.'

The spruce foreigner bustles about with a very dignified
and ceremonious air, and perhaps patronizes
some of the young gentlemen du monde, with a
word or two of French,— venturing an inquiry possibly,
in regard to the lady of the house.

`Ah, oui—oui, monsieur,' responds our hero of
fashion.

The foreign gentleman, if not yet schooled enough
to know that such response is the limit of much of
the French talk of the salon, will perhaps throw
his interrogatory into some simpler form, in the
hope of gaining more valuable information.

`Ah, oui—oui, monsieur.'

“Mais, que diable,' says the embarrassed questioner,
`qu'est-ce que c'est donc—que oui.'

`Ah, oui—oui, monsieur.'[2]

Here and there a middle-aged bachelor, not used
to balls, and who has been seduced into this affair
by a sudden and strong fancy for one of the habitué,
will ply vigorously the ladle of the punch-bowl,
and in his nervous trepidation, will seek by

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poorly feigned study of the others' action, the
proper period for a descent upon the terrors below.
With him, poor man, it is evidently one of those
horrors of social life which must, like marriage,
some time be encountered, and for which he has
been screwing up his courage by a series of fainting
resolutions, for a week past.

It would be very immodest in me, Fritz, to take
you into the adjoining room, and show you the fitting-on
of satin slippers, drawn out of oil-silk bags,
or worked reticules,—the auxiliary lacings done
at the hands of some stout friend, or the readjustment
of Martel's wreaths. I could never reconcile
it to my conscience to tell you of the laments over
some broken japonica,—or of the dexterous flirt of
the fingers, by which a crushed brocade skirt is
restored to its original rotundity,—or of the anxious
look of the novice, who is not quite sure but her
bosom is packed a trifle too low,—or of the indignant
scorn of some town belle who is waiting for a study
of the mirror, engrossed by some fussy old dowager
in diamonds. All this, gallantry compels me to leave
to the imagination; and the escapade to the
rooms below, will be as fortunate for us, as for
them.

You are received, let us suppose, by the lady of
the mansion, in a dress of modest character, for

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this rule of etiquette is now punctiliously observed,—
that a hostess should not outshine her guests;
you are welcomed and commended to the mercies
of the throng. She, so far from having leisure to
drop a hint as to how you may get a foot-hold in
the socialities of the night, is belabored with unceasing
receptions, and finds it a hard task to command
breath and composure enough to welcome at
the door the crowd of new-comers.

Of course, she must not be expected to remember
names, and may possibly at supper address you
as the Reverend Doctor, while you are nothing
more than a tidy vestry-man. No such mistake
need, however, be corrected: first, because the
title is not an unfashionable one; and second, because
it will serve to embarrass the hostess, whose
fancy is as easily humored, for the time, by your
playing the Divine, as by your playing the
Roué.

Having espied a lady acquaintance, it is worth
while to consider whether she will pay the tax of a
corner, for a talk, or whether you will pay the tax
of a dance, for such fragmentary critiques on the
Opera, and complimentary sallies, as can be
hazarded in the pauses of the music. With doubt
on either point, it would be discreet to ignore her
presence.

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A little caution is needful that the mother be not
mistaken for the daughter; an error, which between
jewelry, bare arms, and strong lights, it is quite
possible, and eminently pardonable, to fall into.
Should a mistake occur the other way, and a
stranger inadvertently ask a young lady of five and
twenty if her daughter is present, he has committed
an offence for which he can only forget his blushes
by a candid explanation with the mother.

The style of our salon conversation, as you would
naturally suppose, my dear Fritz, is more vivacious
than entertaining, and between the incessant scraping
of fiddles, and the toot of clarionets, there is
hardly room for any delicate balancing of those
repartées or prettinesses of speech, which give a
charm to the legitimate soirée. Custom too has
strangely hedged us in, even in the matter of subject
for talk; and though the lady purveyors of
the intellectual wardrobe, have deftly chosen for our
wear, such short-made garments, as will not in the
using embarrass the dance, they have stripped us
of all the old-fashioned, comfortable robes, and set
us up to starve under the scanty furnishings of the
ball-room topics.

Upon the Opera one may launch out safely; and
it would be interesting to meet with a young gentleman
of the town, who had not used this

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conversational laxative, in the opening of his fashionable
acquaintance. The Dusseldorf gallery has proved a
most happy aperient, and has helped out more cases
of obstinate constipation of speech, than can be found
under the Sarsaparilla advertisements. If a certain
degree of intimacy exists between the parties,
talk may turn upon the last ball, or a recent marriage;
and under extraordinary circumstances it may
take a playful flight to a late book, or settle down
upon a popular author. In this event, a proper degree
of dignity will be sustained among the highbred,
by strong praise of what is English, and by a
naïve ignorance of what is American.

The theatre, unless a star is upon the stage, is
not reckoned a legitimate subject;—with the exception,
however, of Burton's, and the new play of
Mrs. Kemble. Churches and architecture are admissible
and fertile. These give a moral tinge,
moreover;—and notwithstanding the loss of this,
I am free to say, that it would be quite refreshing
to meet with a lady chatterer, who was not possessed
of an arranged opinion about the spiral proportions
of Trinity, the gaudy windows of Grace, and
the rural simplicity (church building, and not
church offices) of the Holy Communion.

Dress is a nice topic, but reckoned too personal,
and in many instances, too low, for pertinent

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discussion. A clandestine marriage, or a divorce case,
are Sacramento gold pits, from which will be drawn
out rich ingots of conversational metal, that will
need only the assaying of a leader of the ton, to
become fashionable `tender' for a twelvemonth.
An unexpected, or a conventional match, such as
that of an old roue with a modest beauty, or of an
old belle with a weak young man, is an admirable
furnisher of salon eloquence, and of such epigrammatic
hits as can be let off in the piano of an orchestra.

It is worth while that you be advised, however,
that the topics change with the advance of a season;
and that they have as regular an ebb and flow
as the Cuba news, or the morals of the church.
In early winter the tide is well up, bearing the
scum and froth of the beach: Some delightful
watering-place or fancy ball will be uppermost,
and a little, rank tid-bit of scandal, serve as a pate
de foie gras to the dinner of the talk. Then will
follow a discussion of the acceding belles, or of an
acceding family, which now entering upon the third
winter of a palace home, is game for chat, and admissible
to town circles. Next in progression, will
appear the opening flirtations, the Art-Union Collection,
the fashion for furs, the new opera, and the
length of the Indian summer. New Years and

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Christmas are killing baits, that will decoy the
most shy of conversational finsters; and will fill
up wide gaps of talk, until the current of opera remark
shall have settled into a well-considered code
of condemnations and approvals.

The lions of the time will have a lion's share: and
true to Peter Parley and Buffon, whoever will pull
a thorn from their foot, will be meted their rude
caresses. As the season advances toward the blush
of spring, the current of chat will again flow out
toward the prospective charms of the watering-places,
where it is now setting, very strong, and
very turbid.

But to return to our salon;—supposing yourself
a stranger, and anxious to relieve the monotony of
staring stupidly about you, and to carry as genial a
humor as possible through the crush of the throng,
you address yourself to a lady-friend, for presentation;
since there is little hope in the crowd, of finding
your hostess.

And here it is worth while to remark a sometime
peculiarity of our salons: although, upon the barest
subterfuge of acquaintance, familiarity may run to
most riotous limit, yet without such previous or supposed
acquaintance, distance is extreme; and the
offer of even the most trifling assistance or remark, to
a stranger lady, might give a serious wound to her

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social dignity. It does not seem to be an axiom of
our laws of hospitality, that the character of a
hostess is a guaranty for the character or social
level of the invited; and we present in our Republican
City the strange spectacle of well-defined
castes revolving in a single salon, under common
invitation, yet each one retaining its social individuality.

This solecism is, I fancy, hard to be found in
any other Christian country; nor is it often left
out of civilized codes,—that scorn of a guest, is
an insult to the host. The truth is, the generality
of invitations forbids coalition of sets; and
so long as fashionable position is based on notoriety,
and notoriety is sustained by the number
of protegées, we see no present help for the absurdities
remarked. We invited more freely than the
European caste-men; but we maintain our castes
under the invitation. In word only, we are
democratic; and in spirit, full of aristocratic
cravings.

Note again, Fritz, that I am not arguing for
any full and free intermingling of breeding and
vulgarity; this would be to argue against natural
laws—to create combinations without chemical
affinities; and at best, in the ungenial mixture,
crude precipitates would be thrown down, that

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would not and could not re-combine. But, I am
arguing against pretence, against an assumed
mingling which is but mockery,—against a boasted
social evenness which shows in the most offensive
lights (offensive as well to humanity as to goodbreeding)
our unevennesses. We are making the
veil of an invitation the shield of our disproportions;
and yet it is a glass shield,—a paltry lens, that reveals
and distorts all that it covers!

The assemblage of different persons under one
roof, by one invitation, and in honor of the inviter,
should be, and by all reasonable laws of society is,
a virtual recognition of the social equality of those
persons for the time. It is an insult to a host to
suppose otherwise; it is a dishonor to one's self to
act otherwise. But if for the time, there may
be danger of its continuance; and here comes
up another town peculiarity which is worth its
mark.

Socialities with us, running as they do to routs,
and having their measure and culmination in
polkas and at the Opera, are not acted upon by
old-fashioned quiet gatherings, and the unaffected
easiness of familiar visiting. The consequence is,
acquaintances are formed and refined in the crush
of a ball; they are of public origin, and public
execution. Hence, a little coyness must be used

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in the densely-packed salon of a friendly host, and
bonhommie must be thrown aside for seasonable
manœuvre. The social line might receive infringement,
which could not easily be made good; and
the admitted truth at the soirées of European cities,
that the intercourse of an evening, under favor of
an inviting host, is no ground for future familiarity,
modifies in no degree the action or the politesse
of our salons.

But to return again: you are presented to a
lady, a polkist, one of the —'s. Every one
talks of the —'s. Even the Home Journal indulges
in conjectures as to where the —'s will
spend the summer. The public is interested to
know; fashion is at a comparative stand-still; the
railway stocks are fluctuating, and will probably
continue to fluctuate until it is ascertained where
the —'s are going. Even Tophanes has been
heard to express a wonder, as to where the —'s
are going?

The conversation of the —'s is, of course,
what it should be, full, rich, academic, and—
's-y. I had hoped, Fritz, and have made two
or three well-intentioned efforts, to give you a
sketch of the salon-talk; but it is useless; its
gases are too volatile; the heat of the pen-point
rarefies and disperses them altogether. With the

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staple you have already been supplied, three pages
back; turn it in kalaidescope, and you will have
the various phases,—rich in colors, rectangular and
methodic in proportions, always changing, but
eternally kalaidescopic. And its variety may be
reckoned up in the witty line of the old French
comedy,—

But, lest you in the country, Fritz, who are used
to base your agricultural action upon a careful
analysis of the guanos, and sulphates of fertilization,
should object that this is not a very specific
account of the ball-room conversation, I will even
give you a prescription, after the way of our town
doctors; and I am sure that any accomplished
druggist may easily prepare from it, a dose.

R. Academy of Design 3j.

Opera.. 3vii.

Watering Places

Dress... aa. f. 3iii

Scandal vel Ipecacuanhæ 3j.

Common Sense, pulv..gr. ss.

M. et cum equa (q.s) ft. mass in pil. vig. div.

And I might safely go on to add, in the way of
the schools,—an excellent carminative, and much
employed in cases of flatulence.

By varying the prescription in one or two unimportant
particulars, I have no doubt that a

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patent might be obtained; and should any enterprising
individual be desirous of rivaling the fame,
and success of Moffat or Sherman, by a wholesale
manufacture, John Timon could confidently recommend
to him one or two young gentlemen as
excellent canvassers.

In the interval of talk, let us take occasion to look
about us; the Frenchman, never not easy, is making
himself charming, by calling it all magnifique!
while he flatters his hostess with a considerate
gaze—timed to the word. A little later, he will
rub his hands unctiously over the supper, and utter
a feeling superbe! The distinguished German
gentleman, stains his beard with the wines, and
gives the best possible compliment, by keeping his
stand at the table, and by a subdued and choky—
`ver goot!' Our little hero, who has forgotten
his Livy and his polka for the time, is pulling off a
partridge leg with a thumb and forefinger, and
diligently attudinizing, while he eats.

A poor dowager, who is unfortunately crowded
in the front ranks, is looking a very feeling lament
over a drop or two of creme, that has been decanted
upon her powdered head, and her protegée
is talking very gayly, and is apparently very forgetful
of a torn skirt, which is hidden by her discreet
position in a corner. Married ladies, such as are

[figure description] Page 067.[end figure description]

done (for the evening) with their polka partners, are
discussing Charlotte Russe, or the scarcity of wild
fowl. A connoisseur in spectacles, is holding a
blue glass to the light, and thinks, loud enough to
be heard, that he has rarely drank better on the
Rhine. A candy, or a bon-mot is stolen by a
feint from the central pyramid, and straightway
the whole fabric goes down under the onset of
those who accept the printed mottoes as a gospel
of wit, and to whom the pastry-shop is a missionhouse.

In the next room, an old gentleman is brushing
about uneasily, casting irregular and not very
amiable glances at his wife, who is polking with
a `love of a man,' and who is evidently enjoying
the ball very much more than the husband.
At every gap in the music the old gentleman,
by a series of very earnest nods, and pretty conjugal
pantomime, endeavors to suggest a leavetaking,
but the wife has a conscience in the matter,
which she does not like to offend. Le mari trouve
que le bal est degoûtant;—Sa femme trouve que
non. Old gentlemen, and irascible young gentlemen
should stipulate about the number of polkas to
an evening, before marriage.

With the German cotillion, and three of the
morning, the bougies grow dim, and the carriages

[figure description] Page 068.[end figure description]

roll away. Heads are slightly heavy with the
close air, and the champagne; but hopes are
built upon the evening's attentions which will
doubtless ripen into a very dreamy sleep.

Madame has not only paid off at a brush a
score of civilities; but she has won honor, perhaps,
by having given `one of the finest parties
of the season.' Hospitality is satisfied, and pride
is delighted. Calls of acknowledgment and
gratulation should be cautiously deferred until
the glassmen have resumed their wares, and the
scavengers cleared the wreck. Then will come
the true ovation of our hostess, in a long line of
calling equipages. Talk will be brilliant and investigation
earnest—as to where the —'s are
going? Even the delicate lady who sickened on
the Charlotte Russe and the punch, writes a delicate
note of gratulation, and thanks;—trusts she
shall be out in a few days, hopes it will be delightful
weather, and says (in a postscript)—`pray can
you tell me where the —'s are going?'

It would be very odious to show such divergence
from the town-taste as to question the propriety,
the charms, or the value of such a winter jam.
The town is its own guide; and the town relishes
and renews these proofs of its refinement and civilization.
The old-school dinner-table, well rounded,

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and with a little generous wine to mollify the wit
of the after-talk, is almost forgotten; and even the
busy soiree, with its earnest groups of talks, and
playful repartée, is swallowed up in the maw of the
balls.

There is little hope for any of the old-fashioned
ideas of comfort, good cheer, and moderation;
railways have scoured the country of cosy stagecoaching;
and a species of wiry, magnetic sociality
is stretched across the town, to shock us with its
reports, and to electrify us into smiles. These are
dangerous elements to contend against; and a plain
man would be apt to fare as hardly in the combat,
as did Quixote thwacking at his mills.

But at the risk of discomfiture, I offer to suggest
for the benefit of a few aged, sensible, and respectable
people, that some measurable limit be set,
even to the extravagances of a town-ball;—that
at least enough room be guaranteed to ensure
feeble folk against bruises, or broken shins, and the
belles against being stripped of their flounces, or,
what is more terrible, their skirts.

Furthermore, John Timon, in behalf of the
petitioners, would most respectfully pray, that the
cream be handed in suitable dishes,—that the
punch be generously iced, and that—in view of
certain mishaps of the winter—written notice be

[figure description] Page 070.[end figure description]

given, as on the walls of the Massachusetts groceries,
to this effect,—`not to be drunk on the
premises.' It is moreover humbly suggested, that—
according to the opinion of all practiced hunters,
leo-hunters among the rest—a small ball is as effective
as a large one, and not half so apt to tear or
damage the game. And it is specially prayed, that
if people will continue to pack, some safe retiringplace
be reserved for feeble ladies and for married
gentlemen;—and that a corner be railed off for
whist or talk, by substantial fixtures, under the
direction of the sexton.

And it is furthermore asked, that a hall of sufficient
size be set apart for those of our Ephebi,[3]
who wish to make trial by the Polka or wrestling,
as in the Spartan Gymnasia, with the women;—
and finally, that a surgeon and mantua-maker be
always in readiness, near the punch-bowl, or such
accessible locality, as may seem fitting, to splint
broken bones, and to repair drooping skirts. Humanity
and modesty alike demand the attention.
And for all these and the like privileges, the petitioners
do humbly pray, and, as in duty bound,
will ever pray.

eaf279v2.n2

[2] I wish it were possible to render by type the pronunciation of our
continental English by Hoffmann on the boards of the Varietes. Whoever
has seen Les Anglais en Voyage, will be indebted to me for a hearty
laugh by the mere mention of the play.

eaf279v2.n3

[3] Term for the Greek youth who had arrived at the age of eighteen.
In Sparta they were enjoined to wrestle and dance with the girls in the
Gýmnasia; and he who could not vanquish his partner, was considered
unfit for marriage. It is fortunate for our Ephebi, that the Mayor
Woodhull is not Lycurgus!

`— nous transportames au lieu où c'estait, et veismes ung petit vielliard
bossu, contrefaict et monstreux, on le nommoit Ouï-dire: il avoit la
gueule fendue jusques aulx aureilles — et aultant d'aureilles comme
jadis eut Argus d'yeulx: au reste estait aveugle, et paralyticque des jambes.
'

[figure description] Page 071.[end figure description]

The little old man Ouï-Dire, as Rabelais goes on
to say, was surrounded with a crowd of men and
women, eager to know what he had `heard say.'
I am disposed to believe, Fritz, that there are a vast
many Ouï-Dires in our city of Washington,—not
only old men, but old women too, who are better
found in the matter of legs, and eyes, than the
vielliard of Pantagruel; and who can ramble
easily from the lobby to the gallery, and can see—
much more than is to be seen. Nor are they reduced
like Rabelais' man to squat upon their
haunches, in the street, to secure hearers, but are,
on the contrary, of a dignified, and important
class, entirely above street-singers, and hand-or
ganists; and if we may trust their own accounts,
are on the best of terms with our eminent men,
and think no more of tossing off a punch with Mr.
Webster, or of a hand at `old sledge' with Harry
Clay, than of taking tea with Mrs. Swisshelm, or
of singing a psalm with Giddings.

They have not only a great many ears, but they

[figure description] Page 072.[end figure description]

have wonderfully long ears, and can hear at great
distances. They not unfrequently surprise us with
accounts of occurrences in our town, and manifest
such intimate knowledge of our own affairs, as can
hardly be due to anything but their extreme length
of ears. Very many such Ouï-Dires are to be
found in various parts of the country, but nowhere
do they thrive so well as at Washington. That
city seems to possess a climate highly favorable to
the species; and to tell the truth, there is not a
little of the stock in our town, who are the first to
catch and Herald the accounts that come to us from
the pleasant old chatter-boxes of the capital.

At one time we are startled into a shudder by a
pathetic story about poor Bodisco, gone to the mines
of Siberia; another time, Mexico or some neighbor
country is in a flame of war, or M. Calderon
has received his papers; and as for the announcement
of `changes in cabinet,' it has gone into
the political calendar, and is as much a part of
public faith and rule, as the `expect rain about
this time' of the Christian Almanac.

Another remarkable circumstance, and one which
cannot have failed to strike the acute and sagacious
observer, is the extraordinary variety of coloring
which is given to the different reports; thus,
one individual of a dignified style, and hopeful

[figure description] Page 073.[end figure description]

spirit, expresses himself thus:—`It is now, I am
happy to inform you, currently reported that the
slavery and territorial question will be settled the
present week; and I have it on the best authority,
that Mr. Clay is to withdraw his opposition to the
Presidential plan, and to lend the resources of his
indomitable energy to the aid of the masterly inaction
of the administration.'

Another of a prompt and business order, writes:
`I have the great pleasure of assuring you on
the most unimpeachable authority, that Mr. Clay
and his friends have at length won over the cabinet
to a participation in their views, and I shall
therefore be able to announce to you definitively
the issue of the great question before the country,
by the last of this week.'

A man of progress, and of high though ambiguous
morals, indulges in the following tender reflections:—
`There is little to be hoped, I fear,
from our public men; they lack that afflatus of a
divine humanity which lights up the true philanthropist.
This cursed slavery is binding their
souls, as it were, with shackles. It is a mild
Sunday as I write this, and I cannot but think as
I sit in my window, quietly smoking my cigar,
and looking out upon the hypocritical church-goers,
of the blessed time that is coming, when there

[figure description] Page 074.[end figure description]

will be no need of churches, and no need of slaves,
for every man will be his own teacher, and his
own head-waiter!'

One of the racy, and cheap-novel school, writes:
`Look out for a tornado; a tempest is brewing
in the tea-pot. If, before the end of the week,
there is not such a hullabaloo among certain prominent
individuals I might name, as will make a
devil of a stir, then my name 's not Humbug.'

Even the same correspondent not unfrequently
corrects his telegraphic report by letter, and his letter
by telegraph: with such assiduity in making
corrections, the town is ensured, as you will readily
suppose, reports of exceeding accuracy.

I am just now, Fritz, in the receipt of a Washington
letter, which, as it brings to light some
things which are not in the papers, may interest
you. I will not vouch for the truth of the roports,
nor for the character of my correspondent; such a
course would be as unsafe for me as for the town
journals. All I can say is, he has the air of being
an honest fellow; and his statements, if not
true, are at least highly probable.

Mr. Timon,

Sir:—I can't say that I like altogether the tone
of your remarks about Washingtonians. You

[figure description] Page 075.[end figure description]

seem to have looked only at such stray individuals
as have lost character at home, (which it is
possible to do,) and gone to your city to set up.
As for the members, I shall not defend them, as
they are at best but a shabby set of fellows, who
bother us amazingly in the winter-time, and have
no more gratitude for favors, personal or domestic,
than so many office-holders.

It occurs to me that you may be a disappointed
office-seeker yourself; if so, you are not the first
who has vented his spleen on Washington in general.
But I beg you would use discretion, and let
your wrath lie where it belongs; we do not boast
any consanguinity with the successive cabinets,
and only show them favor as they are liberal with
their wines, and ices. The Galphin affair was a
fat thing for them; and if the stupid louts of
your town had held their tongues, would have been
paid back in dinners, before the end of the session.
The Whig party is believed to be a very intelligent
party, and I trust it is so; but their family management
strikes us as a little queer. General
Taylor is an honest old gentleman, and it is fortunate
he is so—to keep up the executive reputation
to a fair average.

Cuba made us a little stir and fright the other
day; and M. Calderon (who serves capital mulled

[figure description] Page 076.[end figure description]

wine) was in a sad fidget. Bucaneer stock seems
to be on the gain, and Savannah has led off with a
handsome figure; it is hinted that proposals are
afoot to erect a monument in the neighborhood of
the Pulaski House, to that intrepid adventurer, the
late Mr. Kidd. My friend, Mr. Foote, with whom
I strolled down the Avenue yesterday, is rather disappointed
at the turn things have taken; he has
his doubts about Lopez's bravery, and says of him,
(he talks Spanish) No est tan bravo il leon, como se
pinta;—which means, I suppose, that he is not so
brave in the shade, as in the `Sun.'

As for Daniel, he is hearty, and feels quite set
up by that snug dinner at the Revére. He thinks
Mr. Mann is better at `hints to young men,' than
hints to old ones; and that all good schoolmasters
are not, in virtue of the ferrule, good politicians.
As the mail is near closing, I can only give you a
sketch of the proceedings at a late Southern
caucus.

Mr. Clemens being called to the chair, and Mr.
Yulee appointed secretary, the committee, named
for that purpose, reported the following preamble
and resolutions:—Whereas, the United States of
America are just now perplexed by sundry embarrassing
questions, which, from the nature of the
government, devolve upon Congress for settlement;

[figure description] Page 077.[end figure description]

and whereas, that Congress is not the most efficient
that can be imagined, and is made up in a great
measure of hot-headed Northern fanatics; and
whereas, the questions alluded to are vital, involving
the dearest interests of a great many gentlemen
of the South, and collaterally of the North; and
whereas, the session of Congress is fast passing
away without any security being effected for a
continued, peaceable, and orderly possession of privileges
at present guaranteed by the Constitution;
and whereas, California as a State, has repudiated
slavery in a most hasty, injudicious, and ill-advised
manner,—therefore be it

Resolved, 1st: That active measures ought to
be set on foot to turn the current of the world's
opinion, and to effect as far as possible, a revival of
those ancient and most respectable authorities
which sanctioned slavery, while they admitted the
duties and charities of our Christian Religion.

Resolved, 2nd: That Henry Clay, in his proposed
arrangement of the points at issue, has flagrantly
overlooked the true interests and the rights of the
South, and has seriously compromised his character
both as an orator, and as a man.

Resolved, 3rd: That the admission of California
as a State, in view of its action on the subject of
slavery, would be a crying injustice to Southern

[figure description] Page 078.[end figure description]

opinion, and such a breach of our favored institutions,
as no Southern man of honest principles, and
no Northern man of Southern principles, could for a
moment consent to.

Resolved, 4th: That the special thanks of this
assemblage are due to the New York Herald, the
Globe, and the Journal of Commerce, for their dignified
and unflinching advocacy of principles dear
to the heart of every freeman.

Resolved, 5th: That Mr. —, the eminent
civilian, has taken a noble stand in defence of institutions
which have been illustrated by his pen;
and that a subscription be set on foot for the purchase
and circulation of his works, and that in addition,
the freedom of the South be presented to
him, in a—tobacco-box.

Resolved, 6th: That in Dr. Grant, the advocate
of the Tabernacle, we recognize one of those brilliant
intelligences which are in advance of their
age; and whose merit is only the greater, because
it is popularly denied.

Resolved, 7th: That the noble State of Mississippi,
never recreant to her principles, and always
ready to Foote her debts, is doing yeoman service
for those institutions that have supplied her coffers;—
and that her martial governor is applauded
in his sympathies, and encouraged in his devotion

[figure description] Page 079.[end figure description]

to the progress of liberty, and the triumph of
arms.

Resolved, 8th: That we cherish the Constitution,
though it was made in Philadelphia; and
that we are ready to stand by the Union, though at
the cost of association with the crazy zealots and
fanatics of the North. But patience has its limit,
and forbearance is only human; and if provocation
be renewed, the South will rise in her strength,
shatter the bonds of a corrupt and corrupting connection,
trample to the dust the fetters of modern
opinion and enlightened philanthropy, and place
her hope and strength upon the immutable basis of
freedom and humanity, as understood by Southern
jurists, and as illustrated by Southern chivalry!

P. S.—If Mr. Timon wants further accounts, I
can only say facilities are not wanting. I have an
old friend in Mr. Clayton's household (head-waiter)
who is all right: I may further mention that I
have opened negotiations with one of the chamber-maids
at the White House, from which I am led to
hope a great deal.

[figure description] Page 081.[end figure description]

Among the noticeable things of the epoch, Fritz,
as worthy of my hap-hazard chronicle as the conquest
of Cuba, which was no conquest, or the unrolling
of a Boston princess, who proved only a dry
bituminous man, is the climacteric of negation;—
viz., a spring, that has been no spring.

The saucy winter, which we in town were

[figure description] Page 082.[end figure description]

making faces at, as no winter at all, has taken our
contempt in dudgeon,—has bridged over all that
time that used to be spring with clouds, and has
landed us plump in sultry summer, having taken
toll in catarrhs. And as the town ladies are now
making out their balance sheets of the winter's
strategy, and `laying their course' for the summer,
let me too trespass on your patience in filing
away my papers, and in making an easy conscience
anent my correspondents. It is good now
and then, as Webster says, to take a squint at the
chart, and the compass, and to make sure that
good steerage-way can be gained.

The first letter for my file, appears to be from
a lady, and is filled with eloquent regrets over the
present conventional arrangement of the town
marriages. It is feelingly written, and possesses
a pathos of expression, which altogether redeems
its carelessness of style. But I must beg leave to
forego its publication; the griefs enumerated are
too common, and too real, to be ventured on lightly;
beside which, there is an air of likelihood in
my complainant's story, that I greatly fear, would
subject me to the imputation of personality.

Moreover, in such cases, I am led to understand,
as well by common report, as by much personal
observation, that the private consolation of a friend

[figure description] Page 083.[end figure description]

is much more effective than any amount of public
sympathy: and I am credibly informed that not a
few young wives, who have bargained themselves
away after the marriage price-current, have forgotten
all the odium of the contract, in the caresses
of a sympathetic companion. It is delightful to
contemplate the sweet offices of friendship, coming
to the relief of an enslaved woman, and redeeming
an affectionate heart from the legal tyranny of a
husband, by the dalliance of private and disinterested
attentions. My warm-hearted correspondent
can therefore hardly be reckoned without hope;
and if she feels grievously the bonds of an enslaving
wedlock, I commend to her two sufficient and
ripe sources of consolation,—a religious endurance,
or a town-lover. It is a hard case, surely, when a
young woman of tender feelings (and who ever
heard of any other?) finds herself, by virtue of our
conventional rules of property and position, forced
upon a husband, with whom she can have no feelings
in common; but the town, with a most reasonable
compassion, takes pity on such, and yields
to them the free enjoyment of those delightsome
intrigues, which though exotic of origin, are found
to have wonderful ease of acclimation. I dare say
that with a little furbishing of my own pen, the
plaintive letter of my correspondent might be

[figure description] Page 084.[end figure description]

turned into a very pathetic tale, which would draw
tears from the eyes of more than one of my readers;
and if a cool afternoon should be mercifully
vouchsafed us in the city, the coming month, you
may possibly hear farther from Arabella.

A snarling correspondent has addressed me quite
a long letter, in a dashing style, prefacing very
much verbal criticism, with a few generous compliments.
Speaking in general praise of the pure
English of my papers, he declaims lustily against
some lapses in my orthography; but keeps up my
good temper, by sneering in the same breath, at
Dr. Webster. Now I am no apologist for the innovations
of our great lexicographer, and do not rest
my quickness in reform, upon spelling traveler
with a single I; but if one is to be condemned, it
is pleasant to be condemned in respectable company.

If I were to hazard a guess as to the character
of this correspondent, I should set him down for
some punctilious old bachelor, mightily critical in
small matters, and a deep student of his lexicon;
and who withal, is as much of a connoisseur in
brandies and pronunciation, as he is in dress or in
grammar. Such pleasant old gentlemen take excessive
pleasure in being annoyed, and in finding
matter for condemnation; they are nothing if not

[figure description] Page 085.[end figure description]

critical; yet they are pleasant-witted fellows, harboring
no ill-will; and the man who will never
impugn their authority, and never refuse them `a
choice in the packs,' will be sure of their good-nature.

It is difficult so far to watch both printer, and
proof-reader, as to give to all my papers accuracy
of orthography, or infallibility of language. The
most I can hope for, is to carry my meaning straight,
and pointedly; and this, with due respect for Mr.
Snarl, seems to me a higher object, than punctilious
observance of the dicta of grammarians. Our
language is one of progress, and is in the constant
receipt of new accessions from the phraseology of
science, and the introduction of foreign habit; and
the art of its use now-a-days, seems to me to consist,
not so much in strict observance of old formularies,
as in such a management of its material,
as shall enable it to keep pace with the growth of
modern inquiry, without impairing the force and
integrity of the old English idiom. I know no
reason why the social inquirer should be debarred
from the use of occasional descriptive terms, not to
be found in the dictionaries, any more than the
chemist, or the geologist. But the privilege, if
used, must be used with daintiness, and in the
conviction that the term employed is the most full,

[figure description] Page 086.[end figure description]

and best possible presentment of the given idea,
that could be found.

Words, it is said, follow upon the sense, and play
the lacquey to the thought. `Verba non invita
sequentur.' This I should think eminently true of
the many elegant writers who are now swarming
on the town; and words do play such queer antics
to keep up with their notions, that a plain man is
lost in the pursuit of their meaning; and in a short
time, there can be little doubt of a demand for an
elegant dictionary as interpreter, edited by an elegant
compiler. It is needless to say that I have
scrupulously endeavored to avoid interference with
our elegant men, who belong to the newspapers and
monthly magazines; and whatever may be said
against me by my enemies, I shall try hard to
avoid the odium of being condemned for an `elegant
writer.'

As for my correspondent, I will do him the credit
of saying, that his letter is well put together, and
that he has shown himself a critic of smart capacity.
He will very likely quarrel with so homely language;
but I want he should understand that I
have a sneaking fondness for homeliness, (not of
women, but of words.) And it is no little object
with me, in the prosecution of these Studies of the
Town, to catch hold of the strong, old-fashioned

[figure description] Page 087.[end figure description]

English, and to see how it will bear contrast with
the cultivated delicacy of modern paragraphing.
I want to bring back to daylight some of those
homely, Saxon utterances, which, though they are
not tricked off with the furbelows of modern
haberdashery, carry on their backs such a burden
of strong sense, and such width of meaning, as
would split the muslin, and crack the corsets of
our belle language. And I must say that it has
been with a happy surprise that I have seen the
public welcome, and commend the homeliness of
my words; and accept as good coin, the old-fashioned,
plain speaking, which does not dodge
the matter at issue with rhetorical prettinesses, but
plants a right-down, honest, fisticuff blow, in the
very face and eyes of the matter.

A third correspondent thinks I should make a far
better preacher than clown; and advises me to forego
all attempts at pleasantry, and content myself
with giving sober advice to the town. I strongly
suspect the fellow of being a bit of a buffoon himself;
and if I might judge from his letter, think
the bells would become him, much better than the
surplice. With due credit, however, to his sagacity,
I shall be sober, as I find subjects demanding
soberness, and not kill my pleasantry (as I fear my
correspondent sometimes does,) by giving it too

[figure description] Page 088.[end figure description]

vigorous a chase. I shall not set myself up, either
for a laughing Democritus of Abdera, or a sighing
Heraclitus of Ephesus; and with regard to giving
rules of action, and laying down a plan, as the
same correspondent proposes, I may refer to Socrates'
reply to Cleander, in Lord Hardwicke's Athenian
Letters; he was not confident, he said,
as yet, of the best course to be pursued; but he
was quite confident that what he condemned was
wrong; and he chose rather to go where certainty
led him, than to lose himself in the mists of doubt
and difficulty.

I cannot in a better connection, allude to a graceful
letter which has been sent me in a late number
of the Literary World. The kind writer has given
me much more praise than was deserved, but has
unfortunately dampened it with a very odious objection
to my sincerity. The flattery I could have
forborne, better than I can bear the disapproval.
If the lady-writer (for she appears no less,) has
formed her opinion upon any fancied knowledge of
personal action, independent of the papers, she has
reasoned upon most false premises; and has no
right to allege that John Timon is not doing as
much as lies in the power of an humble man to do,
for arrest of the follies that are condemned, as well
by voice, and action, as by his pen. For with all

[figure description] Page 089.[end figure description]

the apparent cognizance of the true authorship, I
must take the liberty of saying that she is in error;
and I only hope that the individual in her thought,
may wear the honor of fair words from a spirited
lady, with the grateful pride that becomes a
gentleman.

Nor can she suppose, if she be the sensible woman
that she seems, that any scorn of lady indiscretions,
is mark of disrespect for her sex; or that it
is not rather dictated by a higher regard, and a
more loving consideration, than animates the herd
who push their vain flatteries into the ear, and who,
in paying to our town-ladies, the tribute of stale and
unmeaning compliment, reduce them to the level of
their own perverted nature. A fair-minded woman,
who is what God made her, adorned with modesty,
and sublimated by purity, is as inaccessible to
praise, as crystal to lightning. Herself is the best
story of her worth.

And you, Fritz, will have grossly misread these
pages, if you have not caught glimpses of an underlying
reverence for what is reverence-worthy in
the sex, which will have more than balanced any
harshness of expression, or lightness of remark.
There is something too devotional in the esteem felt
by every gentleman for a deserving and beautiful
woman, to permit careless mention, or to provoke

[figure description] Page 090.[end figure description]

publicity. To say that such women are not to be
found in our town, would be to reduce us at once
to a state of barbarism, too dreadful to think
upon.

`What are these gentlemen censors doing, to better
the social condition, they lament?' says our
fair querist, with an air of triumph, and with her
hand upon Miss McIntosh's Woman in America.
John Timon presumes to answer—only for himself,—
that he is drawing attention to questions and issues
which have been slept, and dreamed upon, until
they were forgotten; that he is probing an old
ulcer, that so the foul matter may discharge itself,
and nature have a chance for a healthy healing.
He is venturing to test the propriety of what has
been accepted; and to call out defence, where no
defence was thought needful. Believing as he does
that social forms and fashions have much to do
with the spirit, and health of humanity, he has endeavored
to call attention to vices and follies, which
even their lady patrons in their private moods have
long thought over, and deplored. He is kindling
their consciousness of something nobler and better,
that irks with the inaction that weighs it down.
He is hoping to light an impulse to reform, and to
reduce to the actual, the half-uttered regrets over
what is unreal and factitious.

[figure description] Page 091.[end figure description]

But perhaps it is objected, that the whims of the
time are humored by gentlemen censors, that vapidity
is met by vapidity, and that even men of sense
are apt students if need be, in the artificiality of
converse, and the most stupid of social formalism.
But surely it does not need the penetration of a
woman to perceive, that in this, the man is the
subject, and not the monarch. He must conform
to the ritual: and to maintain his place as a man
of the world, he must bend to the fashion of the
world. As Goldoni wisely says in his comedy, (Le
Smanie—`Chi vuol figurare nel mondo, conviene
che faccia quello che fanno gli altri.'

But as I have more than once hinted in the progress
of these papers,—in social life, woman is the
mistress and man the slave. And yet, as is true
of many principalities, it is not the subject alone,
who suffers. It is the giver of the rule who laments
over wasted time, or wasted words: it is she who
deplores that long array of calls, and counter-calls,
those hideous jams and that education of the dance,
which though well enough in its way, bids fair to
overtop what grace of mind, or play of wit, she
possesses. It is she who shudders over the routine
of that fashion which compels her hours and her
thought; it is she who inwardly detests that omnipotence
of position or caste, which makes her body

[figure description] Page 092.[end figure description]

and soul the barter to a marriage contract, that
fastens her to the ever-revolving wheel of torture.
It is she who finds her thought, and deeper sentiment,
and irrepressible longings nothing, and worse
than nothing, because they are ever tantalized, and
never enjoyed.

The man is of a vagabond order, who can seek
solace in very many ways where the lynx-eye of
propriety cannot see him, nor the claw of morality
catch him; he can live, and enjoy life by stealth,
and reputable disorder; but the woman is hung in
the trammels that she herself has made.

The kind Boston friend who has favored me with
his commentary, will find a range given to his observations
before he shall have smoked through the
present paper: and the gentleman of Wall-street,
who has so pertinently commended some study of
the morals of that portion of the town, shall not
long remain a neglected suitor.

A long letter, which wears a strangely clerical
air, takes occasion to commend some of my religious
observations, and proffers most excellent advice,
for which I would express myself even more
grateful than I am needful. The letter gives me
good occasion to drop a word or two upon the topic
generally; and to declare at the outset against the
justice of an evening paper, which has condemned

[figure description] Page 093.[end figure description]

what is called a `fling at the anniversaries.' It
must not be supposed for a moment, that John
Timon intended to throw contempt either on Religion
or Religious teachers; self-respect, if no worthier
motive, would utterly forbid. He is not one
of those leveling philosophers who seek to drag
down great things, by treating them as if they were
little; nor has he any wish, like some overfond,
intellective Doctors, to strand the mysteries of the
Godhead, upon the low beach of Humanity. Nor,
on the other hand, has he any squamishness in
broaching the topic; nor does he believe that either
church officers or offices, in white or black, looking
east or west, are too sacred for an honest and
homely handling in the types of the times. I see
no very good reason for thinking, that absurdity is
any the less absurdity because it slips from a pulpit,
or that extravagance is the more tolerable or
worshipful, because it is hung with a surplice, or
kept afloat with a fish-bladder.

Whatever may be the rights or the duties of Doctors,
I would venture to suggest, as I would suggest
to any sort of men, that they be careful to understand
what they write about, or what they talk about. It
is scarcely to be supposed that any man, not familiar
with the Rochester spirits, should be very effective in
condemnation of the drama, who does not know a

[figure description] Page 094.[end figure description]

farce from a ballet, or a drop-scene from a foot-light.
Nor is it reasonably to be hoped, that a person
should be very pointed in his condemnation of
Rousseau, who has never read a line of Emile.
The Swiss writer was bad enough it is true; but he
had one or two capital qualities; he generally knew
precisely what he was attempting to deny, and did
not affect to know, that of which he was palpably
ignorant.

Although conservative in the main points, John
Timon would not like to avow himself a special
friend to the Calvinistic rack, whereby Christian
opinions are stretched into good pastoral form, and
a host of us condemned in a twinkling, to the great
discredit of the final Judgment. Nor am I one of
those who think that ceremonial is a very good
substitute for earnestness, or that all of genuine devotion
can be slipped out of the soul on Wordsworth's
lyrics, warmed with a watery-eyed sensibility.
Least of all, would I be disposed to join
forces with those intensely religious ones, who go
about, to dress the bruises that the Devil inflicts on
our poor sinning nature, with bulky bandages of
Hope, and plenty of the hard, dry lint of Faith, but
who are very apt to leave at home, the healing oil
of Charity.

I much rather would side with old Dr. South,

[figure description] Page 095.[end figure description]

who says somewhere, that `a good man is three-quarters
of his way toward the being a good Christian,
wheresoever he lives, or whatsoever he is called.
' But lest you be weary with my sermonizing,
Fritz, of which you shall have no more, until your
early apples are ripe, I shall sum up with a little line
of admonition from St. Austin; which will suit both
the High Doctors and the Low, and the Westminster
catechizers, as well as the creed-men:—Ubi
charitas, ibi humilitas; ubi humilitas, ibi pax!

`Boost;—to lift, or raise by pushing; to push up. [A common vulgar
word in New England.']

It is pleasant to have within a radius of two or
three hundred miles of our town, such a sampler
of manners, morals and politics as the city of Boston.
There, conversation is an art of life, instinct
is refined by birth, religion is sublimed by intellect;
the Opera is cultivated with extravagance,
French pretence is confined to the kitchen, education
supplies nerve to the feeble, dignity conceals
weakness, yellow flannel covers the babe, genius
riots at the Town and Country Club, and

[figure description] Page 096.[end figure description]

Egyptian princesses are unwrapped for the delight and
instruction of the learned. It is pleasant to leave
from time to time the brick and dust of New York,
its stifling heat, and crimson fronts, its sad foolery
of Perrine pavements, and everlasting omnibuses,
to stroll through the clean and Sunday-like streets
of our sister city, to lose one's self under the shadow
of Faneuil Hall, or to snuff the air (by permission)
of Beacon, or Mt. Vernon—those Pisgah heights,
from whose houses Puritan infancy looks forth exultingly
upon its land of promise—the Boston
Common. Say what we will, Fritz, of that tidy
Eastern sea-port, Boston is altogether a nice place;
its weather is nice; its laws nice; its Juries nice;
its churches nice; its gentlemen nice; its literature
is nice; its taste is nice, and they have a nice
Religion.

More than all, its ladies are eminently nice. Far
be it from me, Fritz, a merely humble Republican,
to assume any intimate knowledge of the habits,
or private peculiarities of those whose birth, accomplishments,
air, and dignity, place them beyond
an ordinary man's observation. Boston princesses
are not easily laid hold of, and when unwrapped,
may turn out only a swaddled man. But even station
does not forbid a certain knowledge of excellencies,
and they must console themselves, as they

[figure description] Page 097.[end figure description]

best can, for the afflictive dishonor of popular
mention.

Boston ladies are not so remarkable for beauty,
as for accomplishments; nor do the graces of their
persons often outshadow the attractions of their
mind. All those minor arts for the cultivation of
natural grace, which are so assiduously cultivated
by New Yorkers, are entirely discarded by Bostonians.
They talk better than they smile; they ride
better than they dance, and they walk better than
they waltz. French coiffeurs and modistes are not
receivable; and will not make polka partners, even
at the most retired of watering-places. The Boston
lady is not much upon the public thoroughfares;
she may venture into Washington street,
but it is only for her shopping, and her morning
stroll upon the heights above the Common, is
simply hygienic; her luxury of display will be in
a ride to Roxbury, or a pretty `straw' at the
church.

The Boston lady talks always like a connoisseur
about paintings; and though her opinions of the
new Athenæum gallery, are modulated somewhat
by the names, and reputations of the owners, they
are nevertheless, curt, recherchés, and decisive.
She is not given to any of the prettinesses of Puseyism,
reckoning them among such vanities as

[figure description] Page 098.[end figure description]

small waists, and gaiter-boots; yet she is an uncontrollable
admirer of Holy Families, of which
she finds a full supply in the newly-opened stock.
She is much more tenacious of head-dress, than of
foot-dress; and though not especially coy in the
matter of ankles, she studies very little the graces
of a chaussure à son pied.

The Boston lady is intellectual; and with all
her ruddiness of cheek, and robustness of form, she
is not a stranger to libraries, or to lectures, and her
opinions are far more apt to show the aplomb of a
woman, than the delicacy of a girl. She is a lover
of mystics, and a good patroness of Boston genius.
She occasionally dabbles herself in the ink, and
here and there, a touchy, testy letter in the Boston
Transcript, shows traces of a feminine hand, joined
to a masculine judgment. As her age ripens (and
even Boston fogs cannot always preserve freshness)
she may turn her faculties to the elaboration of a
stately paper, for that stateliest of Journals, the
North American Review. And there are those, as
I am informed on good authority, whose energy and
literary perseverance, are sometimes equal to a perusal
of that extraordinary Paper.

The Boston lady has friends at Cambridge;
either a nephew who is a rising man in the University,
or a cousin who is making a stir in

[figure description] Page 099.[end figure description]

Divinity, or an uncle who is a man of vast erudition,
or an acquaintance, or quasi lover, who is a pattern
of a scholar, or a Pindar of a poet. She encourages
the Opera, more particularly if the piece has
been applauded in the Cambridge circles, and echoed
by the Transcript. Nothing in her view, could
be more exquisite than the performance on the
night of the late high prices. Commendation was
general; and telegraphic, finger announcements of
the price of seats, ran around the house as so many
proofs of the genial and characteristic appreciation.
The Boston lady does not affect French; or, rather,
she reckons it a school-day accomplishment,
with which she does not often sully her lip in society.
The English lady is her pattern of breeding,
as she is her sampler of grace. Her ideas of
free dressing never go beyond Sir Peter Lely, and
would stop far short of his voluptuous beauties,
were they not hallowed by her recollections, or her
reading of Hampton Court. The lusts of the eye,
and the pride of life, are not so much among her
sins, as the sufficiency of the Pharisee. She is no
poor Publican, but by Heaven's bounty a Bostonian.
Her religion is intellectual to a fault, and her
Christian ingenuity revels in theologic conceits.
Between Messrs. Parker and Emerson, a divinity
radiates from every corner of Boston; a mystic

[figure description] Page 100.[end figure description]

intellectism pervades their fog of belief, from which
an occasional scintillation of genius breaks out, as
a signal for a shout, and as a new `star in the
East.'

Following close upon the Opera, the Egyptian
Princess has created one of the periodic fevers of
Boston. It was not allowed to the people of our
town to be the patrons of such a learned, and antiquarian
exposition, as belonged to the unwrapping
of a mummy. The enthusiasm of our sister city
amounted even to romance, and poets made anticipatory
sonnets to the Theban princess. Boston
prudery forgot its blushes in the presence of so old
and august a belle, and came prepared to witness
the unclothing of the high-priestess, without a veil.

The company was worthy of the interest of the
subject. Scientific men, the erudite Agassiz, and
the accomplished Bigelow, with a host of others,
were proud to lend their aid to the unfolding of
that mystery, which, for the time, was to throw
into the shade the lectures of a Hudson, and the
antitheses of a Parker. Day after day, the enlightened
assemblage gazed upon the rapidly diminishing
envelopes, occasionally forgetting their dignity
in an operatic bravura, and only restraining a
shower of bouquets upon both lecturer and princess,
when it was discovered that the mummy was

[figure description] Page 101.[end figure description]

a man! Dr. Bigelow blushed, and Professor Agassiz
put his hands in his pockets.

But the Bostonians are too well taught, and too
erudite to be surprised: the metamorphose astonished
no one; and the old, withered, bituminous
Theban was as much a thing of course in the progress
of their inquiry, as a north-easter to their
summer, or a mystery to their faith. Had it been
even a dipped, bituminous crocodile, there would
have been those present, who would have foreseen
it from the beginning, and who would have taught
Mr. Gliddon his hieroglyphics.

Upon the whole, the result was effective; it has
given an admirable topic for disquisition on mysteries
in general, by the Town and Country Club.
The theologians are put upon the alert; and they
will lack their accustomed ingenuity, if they do
not draw from the contradiction of the mummy
case, to the mummy included, a new argument
against the authenticity of the Gospels. The metaphysicians,
too, possessed of the bare fact, that an
undoubted Egyptian princess, bore every appearance
of a man, will easily base upon it some new theory
of objective philosophy, for publication in Mr. Brownson's
Review. The Historical Society of our town
will, without my suggestion, see the propriety of
putting in a claim for the scattered leaves of

[figure description] Page 102.[end figure description]

papyrus, and the leathern belt strapped around the old
Theban. A paper should, of course, be prepared,
to be read at the next monthly meeting, showing
with historical accuracy, and with the acumen
characteristic of the Society, what might have been
on the papyrus if it had been longer, as well as
indulging in a few moral reflections upon leathern
belts and bitumen.

But, Boston is our fit rival; as fit as Sparta to
Athens; they will show us a Lycurgus for our
Solon,—a Lysander for our Pericles, and (to their
honor be it spoken) a Spartan mother, for our Aspasia.
Even in the matter of associations, they
can fully match our Historical, with their Horticultural.
Our learned men of the University Hall
are not more zealous, philanthropic, and devotional
in their search after inscriptions, musty pamphlets,
and Dutch breeches, than the old, white cravatted
gentlemen of School street, in their pursuit of vegetable
enormities, and their inquiries concerning
grub-worms and cabbages. Indeed, the assiduity
and earnestness of these vegetable philosophers of
Boston, would quite throw into the shade the chocolate
and stale jokes of our historical doctors.

Boston bugs are classified, and not a chrysalis
can break upon the Common, but the size and color
of the escaping fly will be reported to the

[figure description] Page 103.[end figure description]

BoardAs for carrots and mangel-wurzel, they are ticketed,
dressed, and exhibited as the triumphs of Boston
science, acting upon Boston soil.

The Boston Clubs are perhaps worth a note;
there is the Old Suffolk, coming near to our
`Union,' with its lazy, corpulent, dinner-loving
men, who talk slowly, and easily, and who are always
sure their own opinion is the best possible
opinion; who look upon New York with complacency,
and who think it a rising town, and that it
will come, in time, to be a respectable city. There
is the Town and Country Club, once quite promising,
but now given over chiefly to Dial-men, who
rival each other in throwing shadows upon what is
light to other people; and in casting the electric
flashes of their words upon what is made darker for
such lightning.

The Temble, in their new building, numbers the
budding hopes of the Boston nobility;—distinguishable,
in their case, by such exquisiteness of dress
as a Boston man can wear, and by much prattle
about the Traveler's Club, and the Reform Kitchens
of London. They adore Britain, and turn up
their noses at the cholera, because it had no English
run. Their learning is measurable by the
syntax of the Cambridge course, spiced with a
nominal knowledge of Porson's critiques; and their

[figure description] Page 104.[end figure description]

taste in Art, is predicated on that British standard,
which governed the construction of the pepper-boxes
on the Royal Academy, and which tolerates
the chalky extravagances of Turner.

As for the Tremont, it would show badly even
beside the New York Club; its evenings are lighted
up with rich talk of horses; and its heroes are they
who have triumphed over the virtue of an actress.
In a town like Boston, where an air of sobriety is
fastened upon the houses, and the streets, the extravagances
of lust are loathsome. Splendor seems
in a measure to legitimate license; but a debauchee
who wears yellow gaiters, and a short-waisted
coat, is even more pitiable, than he is polluted.

But after all, Fritz, this neighbor town of ours,
is a strong town. It has an air of permanence and
civilization which does not belong to our tottling
splendor. In Boston, houses are built, not for sale,
or show, or balls, but for comfortable habitations,
and for homes. Streets are paved, not by demagogue
jobbery, but by authority;—not for fat contracts,
but for service. Municipal laws are made,
not for political capital, but for order; and police
regulations are enforced, not by accident, and
spasms of efficiency, but regularly, and for the public
security.

Their education is not for the display of an

[figure description] Page 105.[end figure description]

evening, nor for the getting of a marriage,—but for
life. Their plans are not laid for the next week,
but for twenty years to come. Even their coachmen
take their fares, not for a full dinner to-day,
but for a good reputation to their stand.

And the analogy obtains even in their literature;
books are written more for soberness, than brilliancy.
They are the result of study, more than of fervid
enthusiasm. Their Sparks, Prescott, and Ticknor,
labor, not so much for pretty complimentary periods
in the Literary Journals, as for a name on
the catalogues of libraries. Boston men have the
power and the gift—to wait. Boston belles (be it
said in parenthesis) have a little of the same.

The New Yorkers may temper their condemnation,
and their sneers by what I have set down;
for it shames them; and yet it is true. It will not
do to throw sarcasm lightly upon the compact and
vigorous manhood of the Massachusetts province.
There belongs to Bostonians a granitic hardness,
that will stand shocks; and that does not lack
either the felspar of Puritanic morality, the sharp,
translucent quartz of education, or the scattered
mica spangles of various accomplishment.

You and I, Fritz, have rambled enough about
the world, to set our opinion free of any town-barriers;
and where worth is to be found, in God's

[figure description] Page 106.[end figure description]

name, let us be bold enough to say it. They may
acknowledge it with a kind grimace, or with a
sneer; with, or without either, I shall hope to survive.

It is said that when Theban Pindar was fined in
a large sum, for abuse of his native city, Athens in
consideration of certain complimentary terms which
the poet had bestowed, discharged the debt. If the
New Yorkers should ostracise John Timon for his
abuse, I trust that the Bostonians will be generous
enough, in view of his praises, to show him Athenian
justice.

And now, my dear Fritz, hoping that this city
sultriness does not reach you,—that your new milk
is not soured with thunder, and that your oat-fields
are fast feathering into blossom, I bid you, for a
fortnight more,—Adieu.

Timon.