CHAP. V.

Frogs-Neck—Bull-Frogs—Hell-Gate—Impious spirit of democracy—
Mode of passing Hell-Gate— Fondness of the Yankees
for dying accounted for—Dutch courage—Mr. Robert James—
Country seats—Sandy-Hook—Navy-Yard, &c.—Little Frenchman—
Author takes lodgings with a gentleman of colour at the
Hotel des Huitres—Bill of exchange—Unprincipled behaviour of
the Yankee merchant—Quarterly Review—Description of New-York—
Basis of republicanism—Agrarian Law—Quarterly—
Classification of the citizens of New-York—Extensive circulation
of the Quarterly Review—Gratitude of the people of colour—
Beggarly pride of republicanism—Propensity to thieving
among the higher classes—Picture of the manners and morals
of the people, drawn by the landlord—Quantity of flies and
moschetoes—Law against killing spiders—Little Frenchman,
&c.

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About daylight I was roused by a most horrible
noise, which resembled nothing I had ever heard
before. On going upon deck, I perceived the
whole surface of the water, as far as the eye could
reach, covered with immense bull-frogs, who leapt
and croaked, to the infinite delight of these tasteful
democrats, who were all gathered together to
hear this charming concert, which they would

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prefer to the commemoration of Handel. Some of the
largest of these frogs actually jumped upon deck,
and a canoe alongside was nearly upset by three or
four of them clambering up its sides, at one and
the same time. The place is called Frog's Neck,
and never was there a spot more aptly named.
There is a little settlement near this, called New-Rochelle,
peopled by Frenchmen, who were doubtless
attracted by the frogs. But such is the ardour
of these refined republicans, for this species of music,
that the legislature has enacted a law, making
it death to kill one of these delightful musicians.
To kill a man here is a trifle—but to kill a frog is
capital!

Shortly after leaving Frog's Neck, we came to
the famous pass of Hell Gate, as it is impiously
called by the profane spirit of democracy. It is
the Scilly and Charybdis of the new world, and
nothing but the special protection of Providence
can account for the few deliverances that happen
to these reckless republicans in passing it, which
they do every hour of the day and night. As soon
as they begin to distinguish its roaring, which can
be heard at a distance of thirty miles, except when
the frog concert intervenes, all hands, captain, pilot,
and the rest, set to and drink apple brandy,
or whiskey, so that by the time they come to the
Hog's Back, they are as drunk as swine. They
then lie down flat on their faces and let the vessel
take her course. This preparatory tippling is
what they impiously call receiving “extreme

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unction,” and preparing for death, which the communicative
traveller assured me not more than one
out of three escaped on an average. I could not
help expressing my wonder, that these people
should thus recklessly sport with their lives. “O,
as to that,” replied he, “what with the curse of
democracy, the grinding oppressions of unrestrained
liberty, together with the total insecurity
of property under mob law; and the total insecurity
of person, in consequence of the universal
practice of robbery and murder, of which
you have had ample experience,—I say, what with
all this, ninety-nine in a hundred of these, my
wretched countrymen, would as soon die as not,
and some of them a great deal rather, only to escape
the blessings of democracy.” “But,” said
I, “why don't these miserable creatures say their
prayers, and make some little preparation to die
like christians, instead of thus beastifying themselves?”
“O,” answered he, with a coolness that
made me shudder, “this is what we call Dutch
courage; and I assure you, upon my credit, that I
never knew a genuine brother Jonathan who could
be brought to face an enemy, or die with decency,
unless he had his SKIN full of whiskey, and was
well `corned,' as we say. This was the way in
which we gained all our victories last war both by
sea and land.” Good, thought I, here is the testimony
of one of their own countrymen. Mr.
James shall add this to his apologies for Blue and
Buff, in his next edition.

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This conversation happened after safely passing
this tremendous strait, which we did as it were by
miracle. Betwixt this and New-York, the communicative
traveller pointed out to me some two
or three of what he called magnificent country seats,
which seemed to me about the size of a pigeonhouse.
I took no notice of him or them, but affected
to be in a fit of abstraction, with my eyes
fixed on vacancy. Turning the point of Sandy-Hook,
we came in full sight of the city, its bay,
and islands. I saw that several of these people
were watching to detect in me some symptoms of
surprise or admiration, so I resolved to disappoint
them, and turned my back to the city, keeping
my eyes fixed on the opposite shore. The communicative
traveller, supposing I was looking at
the Navy-Yard, where several large ships were
lying, observed: “That is the Cyane, near the
red store. Or perhaps you mean the other—that
is the Macedonian—or perhaps you mean the one
next her—that is —.” I could stand it no longer,
but was fain to turn round and look at their
detestable city.

When we came near the wharf, the little Frenchman
came up to me with a low bow and the offer
of his box as usual. “I hope Monsieur, my friend
and myself shall take lodgings together. As we
are strangers in a strange place, 'tis pity we should
part. I assure you I shall not rob Monsieur,”
said he, with an impertinent, significant smile.
I told him at last I should lodge that night on

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board, and depart the next day in the same boat
I came. “What!” replied he, “is Monsieur
going to New-Orleans again? But in truth we
are sorry to lose your very agreeable company,
Monsieur, and hope we shall meet again when you
come back from New-Orleans.” So saying, he
bowed profoundly low and departed, accompanied
by his friend, and by my most devout wishes
never to set eyes upon either of them again.

Desirous to avoid any public attentions, and
most especially to escape the honour of being made
a citizen of New-York, which the corporation insist
upon bestowing upon every stranger of distinction,
in order to add some little respectability to
their sty of democracy, I took a private lodging
with a respectable man of colour who kept the Hotel
des Huitres in Water-street. According to the
fashionable London mode, I intended to direct all
those who asked my address, to the City Hotel,
where there is generally such a concourse of people
that the bar-keeper never knows the names of half
the boarders. My first business after taking possession
of my lodgings, was to present a bill of exchange,
drawn on one of the most respectable merchants
here, (if such a term can be applied to a
Yankee peddler,) by one of our first London bankers.

I found him in his counting-room with a jug,
as I presume of whiskey, at his side, and pretty
well “corned,” as the communicative traveller
says, though it was hardly nine o'clock. He received
me with a sort of bear-like republican

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civility, which I ascribed to the awe in which they
stand of Englishmen, to whom they are one and
all indebted more than they ever mean to pay.
He read my letter, looked very deliberately at the
bill of exchange, then folding them both up carefully,
offered them to me. “Is it convenient
for you,” said I, “to cash the bill at once?”
“No sir, not very convenient.” “I suppose,
then, I must be content with your acceptance at
the usual sight.” “My good friend, I don't mean
to accept it, I assure you.” “No, sir?” said I,
bristling up, for I began to suspect some Yankee
trick—“and pray may I take the liberty of asking
the reason of this extraordinary conduct?” “Certainly.
The banker who drew this bill, by my last
advices is a bankrupt and a swindler. He has no
effects in my hands, nor is he ever likely to have.
I am sorry for your disappointment, but I cannot
accept your bill of exchange.” I snatched the letter
out of his hand and hurried out of the room, and
my disappointment was almost balanced by the
pleasure I felt at this early confirmation of my impressions
with regard to the character of these
republican merchants, who I was satisfied, from
reading the Quarterly Review, never paid a debt
of any kind, there being no law in this country to
oblige them. I had no doubt but the story of the
drawer of my bill, (no less a man than Mr. Henry
Fauntleroy, who keeps two mistresses, and
three splendid establishments,) being a bankrupt
and swindler, was a fabrication, invented to evade

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the payment. Such is the universal practice here,
and thus is the reputation of half the merchants of
Britain ruined in this country. The genuine republican
merchant never stops payment and compounds
with his creditors, (which they generally
do twice or thrice a year,) without putting it all
upon his correspondents in England, who are, in
fact, always the greatest sufferers. This story
they all make a point of believing, because they
are all, or soon expect to be, in the same predicament.
It is a proof of the generous credulity of honest
John Bull that he still continues to trust, and
be cheated by the turbulent spirit of democracy,
as the editors of the Quarterly Review justly style
it, in their usual strain of genteel irony.

Relating the story of my disappointment to my
worthy landlord, I thought he looked rather shy,
as if he expected it to be the prelude to a long
score. But I at once satisfied his doubts by showing
him a few guineas, and telling him I always
paid my bill every Saturday night. He then resumed
his confidence, and proceeded to let me into
the secrets of this unprincipled and profligate city,
which being the general rendezvous of people from
all parts of this puissant and polished republic, (as
the Quarterly calls it,) presents at one view a picture
of the blessings of pure and undefiled democracy.
That my readers may have the clearer
idea of a genuine republican city, I shall be more
particular in my description, especially as this is

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considered as the very pink of all the cities of the
new world.

New-York, the capital of the state of New-Jersey,
so called from being originally settled by
Yorkshire horse jockies, is situated on the main
land, between two rivers, about the size of the
Thames, though not quite so large, that being unquestionably
the greatest river in the world. That
on the east they call the north, and that on the
west, the east river, by a very pardonable blunder,
as it would be taxing the spirit of democracy too
severely to preserve the least acquaintance with
such aristocratic trumpery as the points of the
compass. The blessings of ignorance, constitute
the basis of republicanism, as the Quarterly says,
with its characteristic wit and humour.

Most of the houses are built of pine boards, and
generally about half finished, the owners for the
most part stopping payment before the work is
completed. There is a great appearance of bustle,
but very little business in fact, as the spirit of democracy
impels these people to make a great
noise about nothing. To see one of their peddling
merchants staring about in Wall-street, one would
suppose he was overwhelmed with the most momentous
affairs, when, if the truth was known, his
whole morning's business consists in purchasing a
dozen birch brooms, or a pound of wafers. There
is also a great appearance of building here, but this
is partly owing to the necessity of new houses to
replace the old ones, which generally tumble to

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pieces at the end of three or four years, and partly
owing to the inveterate habit of emigration characteristic
of the restless spirit of democracy, which
prevents the people remaining long in one place.
Hence they are perpetually on the move from one
part of the city to another. Sometimes whole
streets are deserted in this way, and then as new
buildings become necessary, the cry of these republican
braggarts, as the Quarterly calls them, is
about the number of houses building, and the vast
increase of the city. Sometimes they pull down
a street and build it up again, merely to impose
upon strangers an idea of its prosperity, and attract
emigrants from England, although those who have
been weak enough to come hither for the last six
or eight years, are, with the exception of a few
sent home by the British Consul, every soul of
them on the parish.

The people of New-York may be divided into
three classes, those that beg, those that borrow,
and those that steal. Not unfrequently, however,
all these professions are united in one person, as
they are a very ingenious people, and almost every
man is a sort of Jack of all trades. The beggars
constitute about one third of the population, and
are supported with great liberality by the other
two classes, who remembering that charity covers
a multitude of sins, make use of its broad mantle
in this way, and upon the strength of their alms,
claim the privilege of borrowing without ever intending
to pay, and robbing Peter to give away to

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Paul. One of the most popular preachers here, is
a most notorious gambler, but, at the same time,
is considered little less than a saint, because he
professes to give all his winnings to the poor.
Another person, an alderman, generally breaks
into a neighbour's house every night, but as he
gives away all his plunder in alms, he is one of the
most popular men in the city. Another, who is a
judge of the court, generally manages to pick the
pockets of both the parties in a suit, and the jury
think themselves lucky to escape; yet he is adored
for his liberality, and the beggars who all vote
like the pigs, talk of running him for the next governor.

The borrowers consist of the most fashionable
portion of the community, the people who give
parties, ride in their coaches, and hold their heads
considerably higher than the beggars. The most
approved mode of practising this thriving business
is this: A gentleman gives a grand entertainment
to a select number of friends, each of whom he
manages to intercept as they go out, and make
them pay pretty handsomely for dinner in the
shape of a loan. When one set gets tired, he invites
another, and so on till his debts amount to
sufficient to make it worth while, when he affects
to stop payment, as he calls it, though he never
began yet; takes the benefit of the laws for encouraging
debt and extravagance, and on the score of
his numerous charities, is generally recommended
for some public office. This is the last resort of

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rogues, in this pure republican system, as the
Quarterly affirms. My landlord, the gentleman of
colour, who was in the habit of waiting at many
of these great dinners, assured me he did not recollect
but a single instance in which the guests
escaped paying the piper in this way, when the entertainer
let them off, in consequence of having
picked their pockets at table. I asked him how
it happened that the guests did not resent or complain
of this treatment. “O,” replied he, “it is
diamond cut diamond—every one has his turn,
and it amounts to an equal division of property in
the end—a republican Agrarian law, as the Quarterly
says.” “What, do you read the Quarterly?”
said I. “O yes; we all read Massa Quarterly—
he love us people of colour so much.” He further
assured me the people of colour had it one time in
contemplation to send out half a dozen of their
prettiest ebony lasses to England, that the gentlemen
of the Quarterly might have their choice of
them for wives. But the ladies of colour, having
been persuaded by some of the white belles of fashion,
who envied their high destinies, that all these
gentlemen lived in Grub-street, one of the most
ungenteel places in all London, turned up their
pretty pug noses, and demurred to the proposition.

I was delighted at this information, which not
only proved the extensive circulation of this valuable
Review, but likewise the gratitude of the people
of colour for the exertions of its conductors in
their behalf. It is enough to make the eye of

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philanthropy water to hear as I have done that such
is the pride of these beggarly republicans, that
they will not admit a gentleman or lady of colour
to any intimacy of association, insomuch that it is
considered a disgrace to enter into a matrimonial
connexion with them! This is another beautiful
illustration of the beggarly pride of these upstart
republicans, as the Quarterly says.

The class of pick-pockets, shop-lifters, and
thieves of all sorts, is probably the most numerous
of the whole community. Nobody ventures
to carry money in his pocket, and when the ladies
go out shopping, they always hold their
purses in their hands. Even this is no security,
for it generally happens that they are snatched
away before they have gone a hundred yards.
One of the shop-keepers here assured me it seldom
happened that a lady came into his shop without
pocketing a piece of lace, a pair of gloves, or something
of the kind, provided they could not get at
the till. It is the universal practice to search them
before they depart; and from long habit they submit
to this as quietly as lambs. Plenty of company
to keep them in countenance, and long habit
renders them indifferent to discovery, as the shopman
assured me. Two or three ladies came in
meanwhile, and were suffered to go away without
being searched by the shopman, who, as I found
to my cost afterwards, was all this while busily
employed in emptying my pockets. Yet, for all
this, do these bragging republicans boast that it is

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unnecessary for the country people to lock their
doors at night. My landlord assured me that
this was the fact, but that it arose from the conviction
that locking them would be of no service,
every man being exceedingly expert in picking
locks, both from education and habit.

“The consequence of all this,” continued the
worthy gentleman of colour, “is a general, I may
say irremediable relaxation of manners, and a total
want of prudence and principle in all classes.
Drunkenness, impiety, insolence, extravagance,
ignorance, brutality, gluttony, and every vice that
can disgrace human nature, are the ordinary characteristics
of these spawn of filthy democracy, as
the Quarterly says; and if there be any thing in
which these people are not utterly detestable, it
is their fondness for oysters, which enables me to
get a tolerable livelihood. This fondness is sharpened
by the exquisite relish of breaking the laws at
the same time that they gratify their appetites—the
corporation of the city, for the purpose of monopolizing,
having enacted that no oysters shall be
brought to market, but what they eat themselves.”
Nothing, indeed, can equal the tyranny of the laws
in this country; nor would it be possible to live
under them, did not the turbulent spirit of democracy
compound for itself, by breaking them all
without ceremony.

It is another consequence of the relaxation of
morals among these virtuous republicans, that the
relaxation of the laws, is in proportion to the

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relaxation of morals. To such an extent has this
been carried, that these people may be said to have
no laws at all. All sorts of crimes are here committed
with perfect impunity; and it is a common
saying, that it requires more interest to be hanged,
than to attain to the highest dignity of the republic.
Drunkenness is here the usual and infallible
apology for crime; and as the mass of the people
are usually corned, as my friend the communicative
traveller says, this excuse is seldom out of
place. But what puzzled me, after seeing all this,
was, that the jails, bridewells, and penitentiaries,
which abound in almost every street, were full of
people. My worthy landlord, however, explained
this to my satisfaction, by assuring me that such
was the abject poverty and consequent misery of
a large portion of these patent republicans, (as the
Quarterly says,) that they actually broke into these
receptacles by force, being certain of getting board
and lodging for nothing.

I was struck with the quantity of flies and moschetoes
that infest the streets and houses all the
year round, and fly into one's nose and ears at every
convenient opportunity, where the latter sing
most melodiously. To remedy this intolerable
grievance, there is luckily a species of spider,
which spins its web across the opening of the ear,
in which these insects are caught. It is no uncommon
thing to see half a dozen or more flies and
moschetoes dangling in the ear of a fine lady.
There is a law to prevent the destruction of these

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spiders, as there is against killing the turkey-buzzards,
which abound here, and are the only street
scavengers, if we except the citizen pig freeholders,
as the Quarterly calls them.

CHAP. VI. NEW-YORK.

Total absence of religion—Indivisibility of a king and a divinity,
and of democracy and impiety—Examples of the Puritans and
Charles the Second—Necessity of wealth, honours, and exclusive
privileges, to the very existence of religion—Quarterly—
Barbarous love of finery—Mode of procuring it—Ignorance—
Story of a blue stocking—Lord Bacon—Ill manners—Total neglect
of education—American chancellor of the exchequer can't
write his name—House of representatives obliged to have a
clerk to read for them!—Attempt of an English lady to establish
a boarding school, and its result—French dancing-masters,
how treated, &c.

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One of the first things that disgusts a pious man,
as all Englishmen, particularly English travellers,
are, is the horrible profanation of the Sabbath in
this town. This contempt of religion and its observances
arises partly out of the turbulent spirit of
democracy, and partly from the want of a privileged
church establishment, such as has made GreatBritain
the bulwark of religion in all ages. There
is in the first place such a natural and indivisible
association between a king reigning over his

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peopel by divine right, and divinity itself, that it is
next to impossible a true subject should not be a
true believer. On the contrary, the pure spirit of
democracy, which rejects the divine right of kings,
will naturally resist every other divine right, and
thus it has happened that impiety and rebellion have
ever gone hand in hand. Every person versed in the
history of England must be familiar with innumerable
examples of this truth. Waving a reference
to all others, it is sufficient to recollect the total
relaxation of religion and morals which prevailed
among the Puritans who rebelled against Charles
the martyr, and the brilliant revival of piety and
the church on the accession of his son. In fact, it
is a maxim with all orthodox writers, that a pious
people will always be obedient to their sovereign,
not so much because he governs well, as because
he governs by divine right.

A few obvious positions will in like manner demonstrate
the absolute necessity of a liberally endowed,
exclusively privileged church establishment,
like that of England. Money is universally
held to be the sinew of war; and inasmuch as money
is essentially necessary to enable the sovereign
to defend and maintain the rights and interests of
the government, so is it equally necessary to enable
the bishops and dignitaries of the church to defend
the consciences of the people against the dissenters,
and all other enemies of the church. It is a
pure democratic absurdity to suppose that men

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will fight for their country from mere patriotic
feelings, or that they will preach for nothing.
Hence it is essentially necessary, that both should
be equally well paid; for as the promise of the
plunder of a city stimulates the soldier to acts
of heroism, so in like manner will the promise of
a good living of ten or fifteen thousand sterling a
year, equally stimulate the dignitary of the established
church to fight the good fight of faith the
more manfully.

In fact, as the Quarterly says, “the want of
an established church has made the bulk of the people
either infidels or fanatics.” There will never
be any pure religion here until they have an
archbishop of Armagh with 60,000 acres of glebe,
and a bishop of Derry with 150,000. It is these
and similar noble establishments in Ireland that
have made the people of that country so orthodox,
and so devoted to the king.

This mode of stimulating the zeal of pious dignitaries
by wealth and honours, is accompanied with
other special advantages. In proportion as the
hierarchy is enriched by the spoils of the people,
the latter becoming comparatively poor, are precluded
by necessity from indulging in vicious extravagance
and corrupt enjoyments. They will
practise per force, abstinence, economy, self denial,
and the other domestic virtues so essential
to the welfare of the lower orders. Hence it is
sufficiently obvious that in proportion as you curtail
the superfluities of the commonalty by taxes,

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tithes, high rents, and poor rates, you guaranty to
them the practice of almost all the cardinal virtues.
Again: In proportion as the people become poor,
they will necessarily pay less attention to the education
of their children; and I fear no denial, except
from radicals, democrats, and atheists, when I
assert, that considering the mischievous books now
in circulation on the subject of liberty and such
impieties, the greatest blessing that could possibly
happen to the lower orders would be the loss
of the dangerous faculty of reading. In no age of
the world were this class of people so devoted to
the honour of the priests, and the glory of their
kings, and consequently to the interests of religion
and human rights, as when a large portion of them
could not read, and were without any property
they could call their own. I appeal to the whole
history of mankind for proof of the maxim, that
ignorance and poverty are the two pillars of a privileged
church, and the divine right of kings.

It may be urged by radicals, democrats, and unbelievers,
that the same rule which ordains the
diminution of certain vices by the absence, equally
ordains their proportionate increase by the multiplication
of the means of their gratification. That
consequently the rich prelates and nobility must
necessarily become corrupt in proportion to the
increase of their wealth. But even admitting this
to be true, the people are gainers by the arrangement,
since, by this means, their sins and transgressions
are shifted upon their superiors, who

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answer the end of a sort of scape-goats, or peace offerings,
under cover of which the poor entirely
escape. It is therefore plain, that the more rich
and wicked the privileged few become, the more
will the lower orders be exempt from both. Let
us hear no more then of the impious slang of democracy,
as the Quarterly says, which would persuade
poor deluded innocence and ignorance that
equal rights and a general diffusion of knowledge,
answer any other end than to make people thieves,
murderers, gougers, bundlers, unbelievers, blasphemers,
rowdies, and regulators, and, to sum up
all in one word, republicans.

When it is recollected, therefore, that the essence
of the turbulent spirit of democracy consists
equally in the rejection of the divine right of the
king, and the equally divine right of the bishops,
and deans, and arch-deacons, to their thousands a
year, it will readily be conceded that a pure republican
cannot possibly have any religion. Accordingly,
as I before observed, the first thing that
strikes a stranger who is used to the exemplary
modes of keeping the Sabbath in London and all
other parts of England, is the total neglect of that
day in all parts of the United States. In New-York,
indeed, there are plenty of churches, but
they were all built before the millennium of democracy,
as the Quarterly says, and under the pious
auspices of our established church. The first thing
these blessed republicans did when they returned
to the city, on the conclusion of the peace, was to

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break all the church windows, and so they have
remained ever since. One of them has a ring of
eight copper kettles, instead of bells, which being
rung by the old deaf sexton, gives singular satisfaction
to the commonalty—I beg pardon—the sovereign
people—who assemble on Sundays to dance
to the music in front of the church. As to going
to church to hear divine service, nobody pretends
to such anti-republican foolery. The shops are all
kept open on Sundays, so that one can see no difference
between that and any other day, except
that the good folks drink twice as much whiskey,
and put on their Sunday suits, in which they stagger
about with infinite dignity, until finally they
generally tumble into the gutter, spoil their finery,
and sleep themselves sober. Such are the genuine
habits of the turbulent spirit of democracy, as
the Quarterly says. My worthy landlord assured
me that the African church was the only one in
which there was a chance of hearing a sermon,
and that even there, the whole congregation was
sometimes taken up and carried to the watch-house,
under pretence that they disturbed the neighbourhood
with their groanings, howlings, and other
demonstrations of genuine piety. The true reason
was, however, that these bundling, gouging democrats,
as the Quarterly calls them, have such a bitter
hostility to all sorts of religion, that they cannot
bear even the poor negroes should sing psalms.
However, as it is the first duty of a christian to
hide the faults, and draw a veil over the

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transgressions of his fellow-men, I shall abstain from any
further comments on the horrible depravity of republicanism
in general, and Yankee republicanism
in particular. I must not omit to mention, however,
that in this, as well as every other town in
the United States, there is a society for the propagation
of unbelief, secretly supported by the government,
most of the principal officers of which
are members. Their exertions were inveterate
and unceasing, and they displayed the same zeal
in making an atheist of a devout christian that we
do in the conversion of a Jew. Of late these societies
have remitted their labours in consequence
of there being no more christians to work upon.

The love of dress, glitter, and finery, is one of
the characteristics of a rude and republican people;
of course we see it displayed here in all its barbarous
extravagance. Every thing they can beg,
borrow, hire, or steal, is put on their backs, and a
fine lady somewhat resembles a vessel dressed in
the colours of all nations. It is impossible to tell
what flag she sails under. This finery is for the
most part hired by the day of the milliners and
pawn-brokers, and there are dresses which can be
had at from two shillings to a dollar a day. The
first young ladies of the city, who never know
their own minds, but alway “guess” at it, as the
Quarterly says, principally figure in these hired
dresses; and it is by no means uncommon for one
of them to be hauled out of the city assembly or a
fashionable party by a pawn-broker, in consequence

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

of having kept the dress longer than the time specified.
One might suppose such an accident would
disturb the harmony of the company, but the other
young ladies continue to dance away without takking
any notice of the unfortunate Cinderella, thus
stript of her finery, or perhaps content themselves
with guessing what the matter may be. I ought
to mention here, that though the young ladies always
“guess,” the young gentlemen are commonly
given to “reckoning” upon a thing, a phrase
which becomes exceedingly familiar by a long habit
of running up scores at taverns.

Notwithstanding all the cant and boasting of
these turbulent democrats about the necessity of
education to self-government, the general diffusion
of intelligence, and all that sort of thing, it is most
amazing to see the ignorance of the best educated
people here. A young lady of the first fashion,
who can read writing, is considered a phenomenon;
while she who has read Lord Byron is held
a blue stocking, and avoided by all the dandies for
fear she should puzzle them with her learning.
Such, indeed, is the natural antipathy of genuine
republicanism to all sorts of literature, that the only
possible way of teaching the little children their
a, b, c, is by appealing to their inordinate appetites
in the shape of gingerbread letters well sweetened
with molasses. The seduction is irresistible,
for no genuine Yankee republican can make head
against treacle. I one night, at a literary party,
happened to mention some opinion from Lord

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

Bacon to a young lady who had the reputation of being
rather blue. “Bacon—Bacon,” replied she
briskly—“O! I guess we call it gammon. But
we don't put `Lord' to it, because it's anti-republican.”
I took occasion to apprize her with as little
appearance of contempt as possible, that our
Bacon was not gammon, nor ham, but no less a
personage than the present Lord Chancellor of
England, the sole inventor and propounder of human
reason, and the noble art of philosophy. “I
guess he must have made a power of money by
it,” said the learned lady. “Did he get a patten
for his invention. We always get pattens for any
great discoveries in Amerrykey.” Upon this she
started up, ran giggling over to some of her set,
and continued the whole evening laughing at me,
thus joining ill manners to ignorance. But what
can you expect from a gang of barbarians, among
whom learning is considered anti-republican, as the
young lady said; where, to be able to read, is an
insuperable obstacle to promotion, and where the
present Chancellor of the Exchequer of the United
States, who is considered as one of their best
scholars, signs his name with a fac-simile, that is,
by deputy? This deputy they were obliged to
send to England for, on account of the few persons
who could write being all engaged in forging the
signatures of bank notes. Even the house of representatives,
where all the wisdom and learning of
the nation assembles, is obliged to employ a clerk
to read the papers, messages, &c., for the

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

edification of the country members, whose education has
been neglected in that respect.

To sum up my remarks on the subject of literature
here, I may say with perfect truth and impartiality,
that the education of youth consists in
learning to drink whiskey, eat tobacco, love dirt
and debauchery, despise religion, and hate kings.
An English lady attempted to establish a boardingschool
for young ladies a few years ago, but the
genius of democracy would not submit to her salutary
restrictions. The young ladies first pouted,
then broke into the kitchen, where they devoured
all they could find, and came very near
eating up the black cook, and finally set fire to the
house, and ran away by the light of it; since
then, nobody has been hardy enough to set up a
school for young ladies, except two or three desperate
Frenchmen. These confine themselves to
teaching them to dance, which being an art congenial
to savages, they acquire with considerable docility.
They sometimes, to be sure, pummel the
poor Frenchmen black and blue with the heels of
their shoes; but candour obliges me to say, that I
never heard of their tearing the dancing master in
pieces, or eating him up alive.

CHAP. VII. NEW-YORK.

Quotations from the Quarterly—Poverty of invention and want
of originality of republicans—Dr. Watts—Emigrants, their
situation here—Story of one—Author advises him to go home
and tell his story to the editor of the Quarterly—Promises him
a free passage to England—Reflections, &c.

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

One may truly say, with the Quarterly,[3] “the
scum of all the earth is drifted into New-York,”
notwithstanding what Miss Wright and Captain
Hall may affirm to the contrary, in their flippant
farragoes and “prostitute rhapsodies, and of impiety,
malevolence, and radical trash,” as the
Quarterly says. “Godless reprobates, brutal and
ferocious tyrants, thieves, swindlers, and murderers,”
as the Quarterly says, “make up the mass
of the population.” “Robberies, burglaries, and
attempts at murder, disgrace the city every day;
and one cannot walk the streets in the daylight,
without seeing fellows lay in the gutters, with
broken legs, arms, &c. who continue, day after day,
without being noticed by the nightly watch, or
the open day of humanity, to roast in the sun, and

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

be devoured by the flies,” as the Quarterly says.
Indeed, I can safely, and from experience, affirm
the Quarterly is perfectly justified in asserting
that, “Insolence of demeanour is mistaken for
high-minded independence.” No reputable English
traveller ever saw man, woman, or child, blush
here, except a few English people, not yet properly
acclimated—that the speeches of lawyers and
members of congress are all jargon and nonsense—
that the preachers of the gospel all bellow out their
sermons in their shirt sleeves—that the judges are,
for the most part, worse criminals than those they
try—that dogs are trained to hunt young negroes,
instead of to point game—that men, women,
children, negroes, strangers, all congregate together
at night, in one room—that not one in ten
of the slaves die a natural death, being, for the
most part, whipped till they mortify, and the flies
eat them—that the moral air is putrid—that the
land is all hung up in the air to dry—that the air
is one animated region of flies, moschetoes, and
other noxious insects; and that such is the influence
of the turbulent spirit of democracy, not only upon
the moral and physical qualities of the people, but
upon the very elements themselves, that the one
is not less perverted than the other. All this I
am ready to swear to, and so is the Quarterly Review.
Respect for the precept of our pure English
orthodoxy, which inculcates charity and good
will to all men, prevents my indulging any further
upon this topic. For the present, I will content

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

myself with summing up the characters of these
patent republicans, in the words of the Quarterly.

“Fools must not come here, for the Americans
are naturally cold, jealous, suspicious, and knavish—
without any sense of honour. They believe
every man a rogue until they see the contrary—
and there is no other way of managing them except
by bullying. They have nothing original;
all that is good or new is done by foreigners, and
yet they boast eternally.”[4] In proof of this I may
add, that they claim every thing, and have even
attempted, as I before observed, to rob poor Dr.
Watts of the credit of having invented the steam-boat.
I have little doubt but they will lay claim
to his psalm book before long. There is every day
some invention trumped up here, which has been
exploded and forgotten in England, and for which
a patent is procured without any difficulty. It is
only to swear to its originality, and that is a ceremony,
which no genuine republican will hesitate
a moment in going through. This city is full of
foreigners; but what can possibly induce them to
come here, I cannot conceive. I have not met
with a single Englishman that was not grumbling
at his situation, and discontented with every thing
around him. The inns are filthy—the boarding
houses not fit to live in—the waiters negligent and
saucy—the wines poison—and the cooking execrable.
Yet they remain here with an unwarrantable
pertinacity, in spite not only of the Quarterly,

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

but of the bitter lessons of experience they receive
every hour.

One morning as I was walking up Chestnut-street,
the principal promenade in New-York, I saw a
poor drunken fellow wallowing in the gutter, and
talking to himself about Old England. This circumstance,
together with his dialect, which partook
somewhat of the Yorkshire purity, excited my
curiosity and commiseration. I helped him up,
conducted him to my lodgings, and put him to bed
to sleep himself sober. After waking, and refreshing
himself with a dozen stewed oysters, I inquired
his history. His tale so happily illustrates the common
fate of English emigrants, to this El Dorado,
(as the Quarterly calls it,) that I shall give it in
his own words, as nearly as possible. The poor
man could neither read or write, and had been, as
will be perceived, the dupe of those interested
speculators and agents of this government, who
write books to deceive the ignorant and unwary
English.

“I was very comfortably situated in Old England,
the land of liberty, religion, and roast beef,
except that one-fourth of my earnings went to the
tax-gatherer, another to the poor rates, and another
to the parson and landlord. But still, as I
said before, I was happy and contented; when I
happened to read Mr. Birkbeck's “radical trash,”
as the Quarterly says, which turned my head,
and put me quite out of conceit with the blessings
of English roast beef and English liberty.

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

Just about this time, the man came round, to
tax my house, my land, my horses, oxen, cattle,
servants, windows, and a dozen or two more
small matters. A little while after the parson sent
for his tithes, the landlord for his rent, and the
overseers of the poor for the poor rates. All these
coming just upon the back of Mr. Birkbeck's mischievous
book, put me quite out of patience, so I
made up my mind to emigrate to America.

“I sold off all that I had, turned it into English
guineas, and went down to Liverpool, where I
took passage. Supposing I should have no use for
money in the States, after paying my passage,
I spent the rest in treating my fellow passengers
at the tavern, and set sail with empty pockets, yet
full of spirits. The Captain was a full-blooded Yankee
democrat, and the greatest little tyrant in the
world. He held that it was much better to steal
than to labour,[5] and by way of illustrating his theory,
robbed me of twenty guineas on the passage.
On my remonstrating with him, he told me that it
was the universal custom of his country, and I
might make it up on my arrival in New-York, by
robbing the first man I met with.

“Our passage was long, and as the Captain had
not laid in half provisions enough, we were obliged
to cast lots, at the end of a fortnight, who
should be killed and eaten. The first lot fell upon
me, but I bribed a poor simple fellow with a

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

guinea, to take my place. Our Captain insisted
upon the privilege of knocking the man on the
head, it being one of his greatest delights; there
was nothing he preferred to it, except hunting little
people of colour with bloodhounds. Out of ten
passengers in the steerage, I was the only one that
got to New-York alive, the rest being all killed
and eaten. When I stepped ashore, I was so hungry,
and had got such an inveterate habit of eating
human flesh, that I immediately laid hold of a fat
fellow, and bit a piece out of his cheek. Unluckily
he turned out to be an alderman, and I was
forthwith taken to the Bridewell, where I made
acquaintance with several of the most fashionable
people of the city, who generally spend a part of
their time there. I had read of this in the Quarterly,
but did not believe it till now; and when I
get home to Old England, I intend to publish it all
in a book of travels. I shall make a good round
sum by it, if I can only get one of the Reviewers
to write it down for me, and say a good word in
the way of criticism.

“The Bridewell is a pleasant place enough. Once
a week they have an assembly; on Sunday they
play at all fours, and every day in the week they
tipple delightfully, in company with the judges of
the court, the corporation, and a select number of
the clergy. For my part, I should not have minded
spending the rest of my days there; but this
was too great a luxury. So I was turned out at
the end of a fortnight, to make room for a lady of

[figure description] Page 080.[end figure description]

fashion, who was caught stealing a pig in Broadway.
From the Bridewell I went sauntering
down the street, expecting every moment some
one would call out to me to come and do some little
job, and pay me a dollar for it. But I might
have saved myself the trouble for not a soul took the
least notice of me, until at last an honest fellow
slapped me on the shoulder, called me countryman,
and asked me into a tavern to take a swipes.

“Having been somewhat corrupted by the fashionable
society in Bridewell, I suffered myself to
be seduced, and went in with him. Here, while
we sat drinking, I told him my situation, and the
difficulty I had in getting employment. He asked
me if I was a sober man, and on my assuring him
I never drank any thing stronger than water, exclaimed,
`By my soul, brother, but that is the
very reason. Nobody ever thinks of employing
a sober man here, and if you look for work till
doomsday, you will never find it, unless you qualify
yourself by seeing double, by which means
you'll get two jobs for one.' I told him I had no
money, and if I had, nothing should tempt me to
drink. `O, ho!' cried he, `You've no money
to pay your shot, have you?' So he fell upon me,
and gouged out both my eyes, besides biting off a
good part of my nose, under pretence that I had
spunged upon him, as he called it; but the landlord
afterwards assured me, it was only because I would
not drink, it being the custom here to beat people

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

to death, or roast them alive, if they won't get
drunk.

“Finding it was the custom of the country, and
that there was no getting along without it, and that
drink I must or starve, I took to the bottle, and
soon got employment, in sweeping the streets and
other miscellaneous matters. Agreeably to the
good old maxims of English prudence, I determined,
in my own mind, only to drink up three-fourths
of my wages, and save the rest, to buy a farm in
the western country, where I intended to go and
set up for a member of congress, when I had
qualified myself by being able to walk a crack after
swallowing half a gallon of whiskey. But my
prudential resolves were of no avail, for the gentlemen
sweepers told me it was against the law to
save our wages. On my demurring to this, they
took me before the judge, who decreed me a beating,
besides taking away the money I had saved,
which he laid out in liquor, and we got merry together.

“Seeing there was no use in laying up money, I
thought it best to follow the custom, and from that
time, regularly spent at night what I earned during
the day. I led a jolly life of it, but it was, like
the Bridewell, too good to last for ever. I fell sick
owing to the unhealthiness of the climate, where a
large portion of the people die off every year.—
They carried me to the hospital, where they would
not give me a mouthful of liquor; kept me upon
soup diet, and cut off my leg by way of

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

experiment, with a handsaw. How I ever got well, and
got my leg on again, I can not tell; but you
will hardly believe it, when I assure you, that after
keeping me here in perfect idleness for six weeks,
and curing me, they most inhumanly turned me
out into the streets to begin the world again! That
emigrants to this land of promise, should be obliged
to work for a living, was too bad, and I determined
not to submit to such an imposition; so I snapt
my fingers at them, swore I would see them hanged
first, and threatened them with the vengeance
of the Quarterly. `This is a pretty free country, to
be sure,' said I, `where a poor emigrant is obliged
to work for a living.'

“Walking in a melancholy mood down the street,
I all at once thought of what the captain of the
Yankee ship told me about its being the universal
opinion and practice here, that it was much easier
to get a thing by stealing than working for it.
This sophistry of the captain corrupted me on the
spot, and I took the first opportunity of putting
the theory into practice by cabbaging a watch out
of a window, which hung so invitingly that I could
not resist the temptation. I put it into my pocket
till I got to the church, where I pulled it out in
order to set it by the clock. Just at that moment
a fellow with all the characteristic insolence of
democracy, (as the Quarterly says,) laid hold of
me and the watch, and before I could muster presence
of mind to knock the impudent rascal down,
carried me to the police, where I was examined

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

and committed. Instead of enjoying myself in
jail for a year or two, according to the custom of
old England, before trial, I was brought up the
very next day, tried, sentenced, and accommodated
for three years in the State Prison, before I
could say Jack Robinson. It was in vain I pleaded
the custom of the country, appealed to the sacred
name of liberty, and to the authority of the Yankee
captain. The judge coolly told me that the
custom of the country only applied to native born
citizens, and that not being even naturalized, I deserved
more exemplary punishment for trespassing
upon the peculiar privileges of the free-born sons
of liberty. `By the time you get out of prison,'
said his honour, `you will be qualified for citizenship,
and may then steal as many watches as you
please.' I bowed, thanked his lordship, who, by
the way, neither wore gown nor wig—only think!
and withdrew to go through my initiation into citizenship.

“People may talk of the State Prison, but for
my part, if any thing could tempt me longer to
breathe the pure air of liberty in this land of hog-stealing
judges,[6] and shoe-making magistrates, it
would be the hope of spending three more such
happy years. I had plenty of meat every day,
(which to a hard-working man of the land of roast
beef was enchanting, if only on account of its novelty,)
did not work half so hard as at home, and

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

as for the loss of liberty, to any person who reads
the Quarterly, that must be considered a great
blessing. They were obliged to turn me out neck
and heels, at the end of my delightful seclusion.
In revenge I picked the turnkey's pocket, got gloriously
fuddled, and was ruminating in delightful
recollections of old England, when your lordship
found, and carried me home with you. By the
way, I should like a few more of those capital oysters.
To make an end, I am now balancing whether
I shall take out my citizenship, and thus qualify
myself for the Yankee mode of sporting; steal
another watch before I become privileged, and so
get into that paradise, the State Prison again; or
apply for a free passage to the land of liberty and
roast beef. They tell me I shall be provided for
if I will give a certificate that it is impossible for
an English emigrant to exist in this country. For
my part, I am not particular, and am ready to say,
or swear to any thing, to be revenged on these
bloody Yankees, who first put a man in jail, and
then turn him out again, against all the rules of
liberty and good government.”

I advised the poor man to go home to England,
and promised to get him a free passage. I also
gave him a letter to the editor of the Quarterly,
requesting him to take down his story, and make
an article of it in his next number, for the purpose
of deterring all his deluded countrymen from
adventuring to this land of bundling gouging,
guessing, and democracy. The fate of this poor

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

deluded, honest, and industrious emigrant, ought
to be a warning to all those who sigh for the
blessings of pure democracy, and believe in the
impious, radical slang of Miss Wright, Captain
Hall, Birkbeck, and the rest of the polluted, putrid,
pestilent, radical fry, as the Quarterly says.
The best of these English emigrants are actually
obliged to work for a living, and if they are not
lucky enough to get into the Bridewell or State
Prison, more than two-thirds of them actually starve
to death.

eaf303.n3

[3] Vide No. 68, Eng. Ed.

eaf303.n4

[4] Vide No. 58, Eng. Ed.

eaf303.n5

[5] Vide 58th No. of the Quarterly.

eaf303.n6

[6] Vide 58 No.

CHAP. VIII.

Seeming inconsistencies and contradictions in this country—Explanation
of these—Park—Battery—Sunday amusements—
Spirit of democracy—Impiety—Specimens of republican conversation—
Theatre—American play—American Roscius—
Kean—Cooke—Cooke a great favourite, and why—Plays and
actors, all English—Little Frenchman!—Author changes his
lodgings—Attempt to rob and murder him by the little Frenchman
and his companion—Spirit of democracy.

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

The more I see of the people of this country,
the more I am struck with the seeming inconsistencies
that I every day encounter. That they
are the greatest cowards in existence is clear, from
the repeated assertions of the Quarterly—yet they
are continually fighting and quarrelling. That
they are utterly destitute of every feeling of personal
honour,[7] is proved by the same authority;
and yet the young men are all duelists, and risk
their lives every day upon the point of honour.
There is no country in the world, as I have before
stated, where thieving, house-breaking, and
murder are so common, and yet the

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

shop-keepers hang out their richest goods at the doors
and windows; the housewives leave their clothes
out all night to bleach or dry; the country people
leave their implements in the fields without scruple,
and there is a general carelessness in this respect,
which would seem to indicate an honest and
virtuous people. But a little study and attention,
soon lets one into the secret of all this, and the explanation
becomes perfectly easy.

That quarrelsome people, and those who run
wantonly into danger, are, for the most part, cowards,
is demonstrable. He, for instance, that seeks
to quarrel, seeks to fight—he that seeks to fight,
seeks to die—he that seeks to die, seeks never to
fight more—and he that seeks never to fight more,
is a coward. To explain the seeming contradiction
to the old maxim, that knavery is always suspicious
of others, it is only necessary to refer to
the fact, that people careless of their own property,
are generally the most apt to make free with
that of others, and this constitutes the very essence
of the spirit of democracy. The people don't
mind being robbed, because they can easily reimburse
themselves by plundering their neighbours of
twice the amount. Indeed such is the inveterate
passion for pilfering, that it is no uncommon thing
for a man to rob himself, that he may have an excuse
for making reprisals upon his friends. On
one occasion I went into a jeweller's shop, which I
found deserted by every body. After staying
long enough to have filled my pockets with jew

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

els, the shopman came in, and glancing his eyes
round to see if all was safe, seemed very much
mortified that I had not robbed him. I heard him
mutter to himself, “one of your d—d honest
Englishmen.”

It is in this manner that the society of which the
pure spirit of democracy forms the basis is constituted;
and this is what is practically meant by
equal rights. It puzzled me at first, how a society
so constituted, could possibly subsist for any
length of time. But the wonder is easily explained.
To be free, a people must be in a state of
barbarity—to be in a state of barbarity, is to approach
to a state of nature—to approach to a state
of nature, is to come near it—to come very near
it, is to be on the verge—and to be on the verge,
is ten to one to fall in. Hence a free people must
be in a state of nature, where we know all things
are in common, and consequently all men thieves.
If it be urged, that a people in a state of nature can
have no system of laws, I answer that there is no
essential difference between a people who have no
laws, and a people who pay no regard to them.
The pure spirit of democracy is nothing but a state
of nature, as the Quarterly has sufficiently proved;
and the people of this country are all bundling,
gouging, scalping, guessing, spitting, swearing,
unbelieving democrats.[8]

In my various walks about the city I visited the

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

Park, as it is called, and the Battery, the pride and
boast of these modest republicans. The Park is
situated at the intersection of Hudson and Duane-streets,
and is very nearly, or quite, large enough
for bleaching a pair of sheets and a pillowease all
at once. Judging from newspaper puffs, you would
suppose it was an elegant promenade, encompassed
with iron railing; but I may hope to be believed
when I assure my readers that no one walks
there but pigs and washerwomen, and that the part
of the fence which still remains, is nothing but
pine. There is no other Park in the city.—But
the Battery! O, you should see the Battery—for
seeing is believing. I visited it on Sunday afternoon,
when I was told I should see it in all its glory.
I saw what we should call a wharf jutting
out into a sluggish puddle, about half a quarter of
a mile wide, which they call a bay. On this wharf
were a few poles stuck up—they had no leaves or
limbs, but I was assured they would grow in time.
The place stunk intolerably, but whether owing to
the stagnant pool, called, in the republican vernacular
the bay, or to the filthy nastiness of the people
walking there, I cannot say. Here I saw hundreds,
not to say thousands of people, strutting, or
rather staggering, about in dirty finery. Some hugging
and kissing each other with the most nauseating
gusto of lust, heated by whiskey—others
singing indecent and impious songs—but the majority
of them, in the true spirit of democracy,
gouging and dirking each other for amusement.

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

In one corner might be seen a group wallowing
and rolling about in the mud like drunken swine—
in another, half a dozen poor wretches gouged
or dirked, writhing in agony amid the shouts
of the people—and in a third, a heap of miserable
victims in the last stage of yellow fever.
Nobody discovered the least sympathy for them,
and here no doubt they perished with a burning
fever, exposed to a broiling sun, with the thermometer
at 110 degrees, the usual temperature of this
climate, winter and summer. Here they remained
to have their eyes stung out by moschetoes
while living, and to be devoured by flies when
dead. I shuddered at the scene, and turned to
another quarter in hopes of seeing a boxing match,
or some polite, refined exhibition, but in vain.
Such is the celebrated promenade of the Battery
at New-York; such the Sunday amusements of
enlightened and virtuous democracy! Nothing
could equal the gross and vulgar impiety of their
conversation, of which the following specimens
will furnish examples:

No. 1.—“Well, neighbour, how d'ye get on?”

“O, by degrees, as lawyers go to
heaven!”

No. 2.—“When do you go out of town?”

“Why, I think of going to-morrow,
God willing.”

No. 3.—“Bless my soul, neighbour, where
have you sprung from?”

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

“Why, God love you, I sprung from
the clouds, like Methusaleh!”

No. 4.—“Well, friend, how does the good woman
to-day?”

“Why thank you, she complains of
being a little better!”

Enough of this. One's blood runs cold at such
impious profanity. Indeed, the people are, one
and all, grossly indelicate and impious in conversation,
as the Quarterly says.[9]

To vary the scene, and to obliterate in some degree
the painful impressions occasioned by the
groups I have attempted to describe, I strolled into
the play-house, which is always open on Sundays,
from ten in the morning till any time the next
morning. But I only got out of the frying pan
into the fire, for such a bear-garden never christian
man unluckily entered. The theatre is nothing
more than a barn, abandoned by the owner, as not
worth being rebuilt, with a thatched roof, and stalls
for a good number of cattle, which are now converted
into boxes for the beau monde. The haymow
is now the gallery, and the rest is all boxes.
Shakspeare being considered anti-republican, and
the English dramatists generally unpopular, the
exhibition consisted of a drama, the production of
a first rate republican genius. The plot cannot be
unravelled by mortal man; but the catastrophe
consisted in the heroine of the piece being drank

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

for by some three or four admirers. It is to be
understood that there is no sham here. All is real
drinking; the audience will endure nothing less,
and the pleasure consists in the actors all getting
really and substantially drunk. This is what the
best republican critics call copying life and manners,
of which the aggregate here consists in drunkenness,
impiety, and debauchery.[10] The successful
hero, who carried off the lady, swallowed three
quarts of whiskey, the only liquor considered classical,
and such was the delight of the audience,
that one and all cried out, “Encore! encore! let
him drink three more!” The hero, however, hiccupped
an apology, hoping the audience would
excuse the repetition. He is considered the Roscius
of the age, and thought far superior to Kean,
or Cooke, though the latter was rather a favourite,
on account of his once having paid court to the national
taste, by performing the character of Cato,
elegantly drunk. This they called the true conception
of the part, it being utterly impossible to
admit the idea of a sober patriot or republican.
The notion savours of aristocracy, and one would
run the risk of being tarred and feathered, by suggesting
such a heterodoxy in politics.

It is one of the most unanswerable proofs of that
total want of genius, invention, and originality,
with which these people have been justly charged,
that the plays represented at this theatre, and
throughout the whole of the United States, are entirely
of British manufacture. Were it not for

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

Shakspeare, Milton, Newton, Locke, Bacon, Professor
Porson, and a few more illustrious English
dramatic writers, the theatres in this country could
not exist. Shakspeare's Tom and Jerry is played
over and over again, night after night; and Bacon's
Abridgement as often, if not oftener. Another
proof is, that they import all their actors from England,
it being a singular fact, that although the people
are actually drunk two-thirds of the time, such
is their poverty of intellect, that they cannot play
the character of a tippler with any remote resemblance
to nature. They seem, indeed, destined to
put all old maxims to the route, and among the rest
that of “Practice makes perfect;” since none are
so frequently intoxicated, and yet none play the
character with so little discrimination.

While indulging in comparisons connected with
the superiority of Englishmen, English horses,
dogs, beer, beef, statesmen, various reviewers, travellers,
poets, pick-pockets, philanthropists, tipplers,
and tragedians, over all people, and more
especially this wretched scum of democracy,[11]I
was roused by a sneeze, which went to my very
heart. A horrid presentiment came over me;
I dared not look in that direction, but remained
torpid and inanimate, till I saw an open snuff-box
reached over from behind, and slowly approach my
nose. 'Twas the little Frenchman, with his mahogany
face, gold ear-rings, and dimity breeches!

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

“Ah! monsieur—monsieur—is it you? I am so
happy! Are you going to New-Orleans yet? I
hope monsieur has not been robbed and murdered
above once or twice, since I had the pleasure to
part from his agreeable company?” I received
him, as usual, with a look of freezing contempt;
but this had no effect upon the creature, who continued
to chatter away and bore me with his confounded
snuff, till I was out of all patience. I
should, most certainly, have tweaked his nose, had
I not been previously warned by the communicative
traveller, that he was a professed duellist, who
minded dirking a man no more than a genuine republican,
and that he had been long enough in the
country to become very expert in gouging. I
could have got him killed outright for ten dollars,
that being the usual rate in this country;[12] and
people jump at a job so congenial to their habits
and feelings. Besides, those who favour the profession
for a livelihood have not much employment
at present, as almost every genuine democrat prefers
killing for himself. But upon the whole I
concluded to let the fellow off, not being as yet sufficient
of a republican to relish the killing of a
man, either in person or by deputy.

The little Frenchman insisted upon knowing
where I put up, no doubt with a view of consummating
his plan of robbing me; but I was resolved
to keep that secret to myself. The more shy I

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

was, the more curious he became, so that I had no
other way of escaping his inquiries than leaving
the box, under pretence of getting some refreshment.
The moment I got clear of him, I bolted
out of the house, and made the best of my way to
my lodgings. Just as I entered the door, however,
I heard the well-known sneeze, and glancing round
beheld the little Frenchman, and the communicative
traveller, watching me from the opposite side
of the way. The thing was now quite plain; no
one could mistake their object, and no time was to
be lost. I determined to change my lodgings that
very night. So calling my worthy landlord out of
bed I paid his bill, took my portmanteau under
my arm, and proceeded to the city-hotel, where I
asked for a room, with a double lock to it, which
was shown me by the waiter, who by the way looked
very much like a bandit; and eyed me with a
most alarming expression of curiosity.

“Thank heaven,” said I, after double-locking
the door, “I think I've distanced that little diabolical
French cut-throat, and his accomplice, for
this night, at least.” Carefully loading my pistols,
and placing them on a chair at the bed side, I sat
down to refresh my memory with the 58th number
of the Quarterly. After poring over the disgusting
detail of the gougings, drinkings, roastings,
and impieties of republicanism, till my blood
ran cold, and my hair stood on end, I retired
to bed. Somehow or other I could not sleep. The
moment I attempted to close my eyes, visions of

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

horror arose, and my imagination teemed with the
most appalling, vague, and indefinite dangers that
seemed to beset me, I knew not where or how. As
I lay thus under the influence of this providential
restlessness, I heard in the next room that appalling
and never to be forgotten sneeze, which never
failed to announce the proximity of the little
Frenchman. I started up, seized my pistols, and
stood upon the defensive, determined to sell my
life as dearly as possible. Presently some one
tried the lock of my door, and I was just on the
point of firing, when I heard a voice saying, “This
is not the room, sir—you sleep in No. 40,”—and
they passed onward.

What rendered my situation the more critical,
was the circumstance of there being an additional
door to my room, communicating with that of the
French bandit, which I had not observed before.
Cautiously approaching it with a pistol cocked in
either hand, I found it locked indeed, but words
cannot describe my sensations when I discovered
the key was on the other side. However, a few
moments restored me to the courage of desperation,
and I ventured to peep through the key-hole,
where I saw a sight that froze my blood. The
little Frenchman, with his dark mahogany aspect,
was sitting at a table with a case, not of pistols,
but of razors, one of which he was carefully strapping.
Ever and anon, as he tried it upon the palm
of his hand, he observed to the communicative
traveller: “Diable!—it will not do yet—'tis

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

certainly made of lead.” At last, however, it seemed
to satisfy him, and he exclaimed with diabolical
exultation—“Ah, ha! he will do now—here is
an edge to cut off a man's head without his feeling
it.” I instinctively drew my hand across my
neck to ascertain if my head was safe on my shoulders,
and at that moment heard the voice of the
communicative traveller; “Had not you better
wait till to-morrow morning?” “Diable, no—
we shall not have time—now or never—I will not
spare a single hair a minute longer.” A slight
movement followed this, and the little Frenchman
observed in reply to something which escaped me
in the bustle: “Do—do—one don't want any assistance
in these matters—I can do it very well myself.”
The bloody-minded villain, thought I,
he wants to have all the pleasure of killing me to
himself. Some one got up, moved towards the
door, tried the lock, and seemed just on the point
of opening it, when, thinking no time was to be
lost, I fired my pistol bang against the door. “Diable!”
exclaimed the little Frenchman, “here is
our old friend, Monsieur John Bull, the agreeable
gentleman, come again. Somebody must be robbing
him beyond doubt. Let us rescue him by all
means.” They then attempted to unlock the door,
under pretence of rescue, but I cried out in a tone
of deep solemnity, “Stand off, villains! I have still
another loaded pistol, and the first of you that approaches
is a dead man. Enter at your peril!”

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

By this time the whole house was in an uproar,
the lodgers bundled out of their rooms half dressed—
the servant maids ran about squeaking, and
several ladies fell into fits. I am safe enough for
the present, thought I, but nevertheless there is
nothing like being prepared; so I held fast my
loaded pistol, while the crowd, which at length
collected at my door, attracted by the smell of the
powder, called out to know what was the matter.
“There has been an attempt to rob and murder
me,” answered I. “By whom?” inquired the
voices. “By a little mahogany-faced Frenchman
and a communicative traveller,” answered I.
“Monsieur is under a grand mistake,” cried the
little Frenchman. “He was going to cut my
throat,” cried I. “I was going to cut off my
beard,” answered the little Frenchman—upon
which the pure spirit of democracy burst out into
a loud laugh. “He must have been dreaming,”
said one. “He has had the nightmare,” said
another. “He must be drunk,” cried a fourth.
“He must be mad,” cried a fifth. “By no means,”
cried the little Frenchman—“Monsieur has only
been reading the Quarterly Review, and is a little
afraid of the spirit of democracy. He shall shoot
him one day with a silver bullet.” Hereupon
they all burst into a hideous democratic laugh,
which is ten times worse than a horse laugh, and
scampered off to bed leaving me at the mercy of
the two banditti. Such is the protection afforded

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

a stranger, and particularly an Englishman, in this
bundling, gouging, dirking, spitting, chewing,
swearing, blaspheming den of democracy.[13]

eaf303.n7

[7] Vide No. 58, Eng. Ed.

eaf303.n8

[8] Vide No. 58. Eng. Ed.

eaf303.n9

[9] Vide Quarterly, No. 58, Eng. Ed.

eaf303.n10

[10] Vide Quarterly, No. 58, Eng. Ed.

eaf303.n11

[11] Vide Quarterly, No. 58, Eng. Ed.

eaf303.n12

[12] Vide Quarterly, No. 58, Eng. Ed.

eaf303.n13

[13] Vide No. 58.

CHAP. IX.

Author goes to the Police—Description of the magistrate—Mistake
of his worship—Examination of the little Frenchman—
Author quotes the Quarterly—Mr. Chichester—Dr. Thornton—
Frenchman acquitted to the great delight of the Democrats,
who all like the French, and why—Sympathy in favour of
rogues here, and reasons for it—Philippic against democratic
judges, magistrates, lawyers, and democrats in general—Moral
air tainted, according to the Quarterly—Author leaves the city
of abominations for fear of becoming a rogue, by the force of
universal example—Turbulent spirit of democracy—Quarterly
Review.

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

The morning succeeding the attempt to rob and
murder me, I inquired my way to the police-office,
which I finally discovered at a cobbler's stall, in
one of the filthiest streets of the whole city, called
Pattypan-lane. I found his worship sitting on his
bench, in a leather apron, most sedulously occupied
in mending an old boot. On my informing
him I had business, he looked down at my feet,
very earnestly—“Hum! why your boots don't
seem to want mending—but let us see.” So he
seized hold of my boot, and laid me sprawling on
the floor, in attempting to pull it off. He then fell

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

into a passion with my boots, and swore the fellow
that made them so tight ought to be “dirked,”
the usual phrase for the punishment of slight offences
among these humane republicans.

It was with some difficulty I made him understand
my business was not with the cobbler, but
the magistrate. “Well, go on with your information,”
replied he, “while I finish my job; I can
take a stitch while you tell your story.” So he
fell to work lustily, while I proceeded to detail
the events of the last night. When I had done,
he looked at me for a moment, and then with the
true gravity and demeanour of a genuine republican
magistrate, burst into a horse laugh, and took
into his mouth a huge quid of tobacco. “And you
are positive their intention was to rob and murder
you?” quoth the sage Minos. I offered to swear
to it, upon which he handed the book, and administered
the oath. “Very well, we must send
for these bloody-minded villains, and see what
they have to say for themselves. A little Frenchman,
with a mahogany face, gold ear-rings, and
dimity breeches, say you? we must describe the
villain, as you don't know his name.” On receiving
satisfaction as to this point, he procured a warrant,
which he signed with his cross, being unable
to write his name; desired me to witness his
mark; and sent off one of his apprentices to bring
the offenders.

In a few minutes he returned with the little
Frenchman, his companion, and almost all the

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

lodgers at the city-hotel, landlord, waiters, and all.
His worship laid down his awl, and the examination
began.

“What is your name?”

“Pierre François Louis Maximilian Joseph
Maria Gourgac d'Espagnac de Gomperville,” answered
the little bandit.

“A whole band of robbers, in the person of one
little Frenchman,” observed his worship, turning
to his clerk, and directing him to write it down.
The clerk demurred to this, as to write it was quite
impossible.

“Well, then,” said his worship, “write down
Hard name, and proceed. Whence came you,
where are you going, what is your business, and
how came you to put this gentleman in bodily fear
last night?”

“I came,” replied the bandit, “from New-Orleans,
which, as Monsieur knows (making me
a low bow) is not far from Portsmouth, in Alabama.
I am going to Charleston, to which place I
hope to have the pleasure of Monsieur's company,
(making me another low bow;) my business, it
seems, is principally to rob and murder Monsieur,
(another bow,) and I came to put him in bodily
fear, by reason of sharpening my razors at night,
which I generally do before I shave myself;”
making me another low bow, and offering his box.

“Hum!” quoth his worship, eying the little
Frenchman's stiff black beard, “A man with such
a brush under his nose might reasonably strap his

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

razors over night, I should think, without being
suspected of any other intent but to cut up his own
stubble field. But what other proofs have you of
this intent to rob and murder, hey?”

“My own conviction,” answered I.

“Aye! but a man's conviction is no proof of
guilt, except it be a conviction by judge and jury,”
answered the learned justice.

“The word of a gentleman!”

“Pooh! the word of a gentleman is no better
than the word of any other man. Every man is a
gentleman in this free country,” replied the democratic
Solon.

“Did they break into your room?”

“No—but they tried the lock.”

“Did they actually offer you any violence, or
attempt to cut your throat?”

“No—but the little Frenchman sharpened his
razors at me.”

“Have you any witnesses to prove the attempt?”

“The circumstances are, of themselves, sufficient—
besides, they have followed me all the way
from Portsmouth, and this is not the first time the
little Frenchman, and his accomplices, have made
the attempt.”

“Followed you!” quoth Solon; “travelling in
the same stages and steam-boats, and putting up at
the same houses, is what generally happens to people
travelling the same route—this is no proof of
wicked intention.”

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

The little Frenchman now appealed to the crowd
of city-hotel people, who, beyond doubt, were all
his accomplices, and who all testified that he had
been there two days before I made my appearance,
which the stupid cobbler-justice observed was
proof that he had not followed me, at the same
time hinting to the Frenchman, he had good
grounds for an information against me for following
him! Finding they were all in league together,
I determined to overwhelm the justice, the clerk,
the witnesses, and the culprits, by one single irresistible
testimony. I took from my pocket the fifty-eighth
number of the Quarterly, which I always
carry about me; and turning to page three-hundred
and fifty,seven, read in an audible voice as
follows:[14]

“Mr. Chichester told him,” (Mr. Faux,) “that
ten dollars would procure the life and blood of
any man in this country.” Mr. Chichester also
told me, that “he knew a party of whites who,
last year, roasted to death before a large log fire
one of their friends, because he refused to drink.Ӡ

“And who is Mr. Chichester?” said the ignoramus,
who, it is plain, never reads the Quarterly.

“Mr. Chichester is a polished, gay, interesting
gentleman, travelling in his own carriage from
Kentucky to Virginia,” replied I, reading in the
Quarterly.† Again, sir, “Judge Waggoner, who

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

is a notorious hog-stealer, was recently accused,
while sitting on the bench, by Major Hooker, the
hunter, gouger, whipper, and nose-biter, of stealing
many hogs, and being, although a judge, the
greatest rogue in the United States.”[15] Again, sir,
we read from this same unquestionable authority,
“Doctor Thornton,† of the post-office, observed
to him that this city, like that of ancient Rome,
was peopled with thieves and assassins, and that
during his residence in it, he had found more villains
than he had seen in all the world besides.”

“And pray who is Doctor Thornton—is he in
court?” cried this pious minister of justice.

“Doctor Thornton,” replied I, “is a gentleman
of character and learning—he has invented a new
alphabet.”

“Diable!” interrupted the little Frenchman—
“'tis not the only thing he has invented I believe.”

I continued without noticing the interruption—
Dr. Thornton, sir, is an Englishman, and that is
a sufficient warrant for all he says. I know, however,
from the best authority, that by his eloquence
he prevented the gallant Cockburn from burning
the capitol and president's house during the late
war.”

“Diable!” again interrupted the little Frenchman,
“am I to be convicted of murder upon the
testimony of the goose whose cackling saved the
capitol?”

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

“But what do you intend by all this?” replied
his worship petulantly, and casting a wishful eye
at his old boot, as if he wanted to be stitching again.

“I mean, sir,” replied I solemnly, “to prove
by this testimony, that as ten dollars is the price
of blood in this country, that as Judge Waggoner is
a notorious hog-stealer, and that, as Doctor Thornton
affirms, four cities are peopled by thieves and
robbers, that in such a country, and among such a
people, the mere sharpening of a razor at such an
unreasonable hour, is sufficient presumptive proof,
to hang half a dozen Frenchmen and democrats.”

But the little Frenchman, who had by this time
sent and suborned the president of a bank, and two
or three directors, his accomplices no doubt, offered
their testimony to prove that he was a person
well known to them, of ample means and unblemished
character, equally above the temptation as
the suspicion of robbery or murder. Upon this,
in spite of my own testimony, and the authority
of the Quarterly, the precious cobbling justice dismissed
my complaint, and apprized the little
Frenchman that he might recover damages of me
if he chose. But the little bandit had other objects
in view, and after receiving the congratulations of
all present, (for these people adore the French only
because they take a little pains to be agreeable,)
turned to me with a most diabolical smile, made
me a low bow, offered his box, earnestly hoped he
should have the pleasure of my agreeable company
to Charleston, and assured me, upon his honour,

[figure description] Page 107.[end figure description]

he would never attempt to cut my throat again
since he was born.

From this specimen of the mode of administering
republican justice, and the character of the
judges, who are, for the most part, pig-stealers, and
never read the Quarterly, one may judge of the
chance an Englishman has of protection or redress.
Every body is in league against him; it is sufficient
for a man only to be accused of doing wrong, in
order to excite the universal sympathy in his favour.
The officers of the courts, the magistrates,
judges, lawyers, and spectators, all have a fellowfeeling
for a criminal, having all been, or expecting
soon to be in a similar predicament, and the
accuser is thrice lucky, if he does not change places
with the accused. The lawyers, who are most expert
in snatching murderers from the gallows, are
certain to be made magistrates, and the most dexterous
pig-stealer is predestined to be a judge of
pig-stealers. The sheriff, not long since, was
obliged to hang his own nephew for the murder
of his mother, who was the sheriff's sister, as these
virtuous self-governing republicans thought it a
pity to hang a man for such a trifle, and not one
of them would tie the knot! The moral air is putrid,
and even the most honest Englishman cannot
breathe it without his principles being tainted with
the plague of democracy. Feeling this to be actually
the case with myself, I determined to change
the air as soon as possible, and not caring to go
back again to the hotel, to meet the banditti, and

[figure description] Page 108.[end figure description]

their accomplices, I desired my old landlord, the
gentleman of colour, to go and pay for my lodgings,
and bring my portmanteau down to the
steam-boat, just then departing for the south.
I embarked in her, shaking the dust off my feet, as
I left this city of abominations, in which though
I had staid but two days, I had seen more of the
turbulent spirit of democracy than in all the world
beside. No wonder, seeing “it is peopled by
thieves and robbers;” and the Quarterly affirms
it to be the place where the “scum of all the
earth”[16] is collected.

eaf303.n14

[14] Vide No. 58, English copy.

eaf303.dag1

† Ditto.

eaf303.dag2

† Ditto.

eaf303.n15

[15] Vide No. 58.

eaf303.dag3

† Ditto.

eaf303.n16

[16] Vide No. 58, Eng. Ed.