w mi': I ;-]' 1 llii'i;:':' •■':• till"!*!!; ": r 1 4 > . c 1 i f I ; 1 < 1 '. . ( 1 1 1 . i ' -y^^ X f ^ .-, s "/, ^^' %% '^->. v~^ A- <^-'-^ <^% v%^ '^> -e. v^' / S U. « ^/- .^\- '7'-', ,-^ V//. '^C ^' ^y. C^^ <^ ^'O X>' <^ . N f,- ^-^ O (\^ -^,, <^^ " -» "''b. ^ ^u^Uc ut^ '^ ^^y^d^ Cf^t^ .^^f^^^^^ -~ ^V V.::: ^^■^^^v^.'V.t^ CRAYON SKETCHES BY AN AMATEUR. C^yi EDITED BY THEODORE S^'FAY. IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. I. NEW-YORK: CONNER AND COOKE, FRANKLIN BUILDINGS. Press of G. P. Scott & Co.— Nassau Street. 1833. ^^ ^ c\ T ^/ ^; TO WASHINGTON IRVING, ESQ. /O ^ SI MV DEAR SIR, In early boyhood the charms of htera- ture first broke upon me through the pro- ductions of your pen ; gratitude, therefore, as well as respect and admiration, induces me to dedicate to you the following com- positions of one who also warmly appre- ciates the treasures which you have added to the English language. Believe me, my dear sir. Very gratefully and sincerely Your ob't servant, THEODORE S, FAY. New-York, June 10, 1833. PREFACE BY THE EDITOR. The following essays and sketches origi- nally appeared in the New- York Mirror, under the signature of C. In collecting them for publication, in the present form, the editor, if he may assume so dignified an appellation, is actuated by two motives : first, a desire to do justice to the abilities of a valued and long absent friend, whose reluctant consent has been yielded only to repeated solicitations ; and, second, to fur- nish for the public a book marked by humor and originality of thought, and an agreeable companion for a dull hour. The editor does not rely solely on his own estimation of their excellence, although 1* VI PREFACE. he thinks the author, what some critic less appropriately called Milton, " a very good writer — veryT Many of the articles have been extensively copied, and one in par- ticular, after a tour through Great Britain, was, with a slight alteration of the title, transplanted into an American paper as a rare foreigner, and in that capacity gained a good deal of extra attention; just as a townsman, dwelling all his life in the midst of us, dependent only upon good sense and virtue, may languish in obscurity, but, after a few years abroad, finds an Italian air and a pair of moustaches, a passport to the tables of the wealthy and great. The " Man of the Fly-market Ferry," " Passages in the Life of an Unfortunate," " The Epicurean," the "Biography of Jacob Hays," "Oysters," &c., are curious and amusing specimens of hterary caricatures, completely and justly turning into ridicule a style of writing bom- bastically about nothing, too popular and PREFACE. Vll common, especially among contributors to periodicals. They have been highly com- mended as satires, at once forcibly and fehcitously drawn. Another kind of essay will be found in the succeeding pages, which attract atten- tion, and surprise one into merriment, by the novel views taken of hacknied subjects, and the sly pleasantry with which they advocate the wrong side of the question. Among them are the defence of "Idle People," the raillery against "Early Rising," and the address to the " Marriageable Ladies of the United States." No intelli- gent reader will beheve that the author intends, in the last, seriously to discounten- ance temperance societies, which have certainly been productive of great benefits to the nation. It is a mere exhibition of the irony and talent for burlesquing, in which he is very successful. No apology is deemed necessary for in- Vm PREFACE. troducing the theatrical portraits, which ap- pear in the second volume. Although they are of a transitory nature, most of the sub- jects are yet before the public; and, be- longing to a profession, the members of which are known by their talents to large classes of people, and generally called to mind with pleasurable associations — de- scriptions of them, like their pictures, are recognized with interest. Little need be said of them by the editor, except that the sketch of Fanny Kemble does no justice to her present improved talents and brilhant eminence, and that the badinage directed against Mr. Richings (who is, seriously, an excellent and useful actor) must be re- garded as intended good-naturedly, and as merely the offspring of a merry mood. Mrs. Sharpe too has improved, in many respects, since our artist pencilled her features so rapidly. There are several local allusions, and hits PREFACE. IX at passing events, which might have been expunged ; but the author not being in the country, the editor was unwilKng to alter the text, and it is hoped that the fact of the pieces' having been originally composed for a periodical, will be received as a sufficient explanation. If discrepancies, deficiencies, or tautologies be discovered, it will be recollected that the essays are not de- liberately prepared, revised and corrected by the author, and put forth by him as spe- cimens of his abihties ; but that they are mere unpremeditated efiusions, struck out in the heat of the moment, intended but for a careless, passing glance, and then to be thrown aside and forgotten. They were hastily furnished for the Mirror, at the solicitation of George P. Morris, Esq. a gen- tleman to whose discriminating zeal in the cause of x^merican periodical literature they owe their existence. The editor trusts that, on this occasion, criticism will not be incon- X PREFACE. siderately severe, but, instead of coldly re- pressing the talent here displayed, that it will encourage the youthful writer to more elaborate efforts. CONTENTS OF VOL I. PAGE. Traveling, — mentally and bodily, 13 Debating Societies, 24 Respectability, 34 A few of the inconveniences of seeing Shakspeare acted,.... 41 Money, 55 An humble Address to the Marriageable Ladies of the U. S. 64 Bulwer and Scott, 77 A Walk in Broadway, 96 Steam, 106 Biography of Jacob Hays, 118 Love of Change — House Hunting, 126 Hypocondriacism, o 136 Idle People, 145 Prize Tragedies, 154 Oysters, 161 Passages in the Life of an Unfortunate, 169 Spring, 183 Philadelphia, New- York and Boston, 190 Old Songs, 200 Morality, Horse-racing, 214 Eating, 221 Albums, 228 Contentment, 237 ERRATA. Page 56 11th line from bottom— /or " am content,'' read is content. 65 6th line from bottom— /or "has all hilarity," read liave, &c. 75 12th and 13th lines from bottom— reac? " feast of reason and the flow of soul." 167 2d line 2d verse— /or "might draw," read might'st draw. 167 3d line same verse— /jr "was torn," read wast torn. 222 20th line from bottom-/or "comes," rec(Z come, 237 7th line from top— /or "indifferent;" readbeing indifferent. TRAVELING. MENTALLY AND BODILY. It is a wholesome thing to be what is commonly termed " kicked about the world." Not literally "kicked" — not forcibly propelled by innumerable feet from village to village, from town to town, or from country to country, which can be neither wholesome nor agreeable; but knocked about, tossed about, irregularly jostled over the principal portions of the two hemispheres ; sleeping hard and soft, living well when you can, and learning to take what is barely edible and potable ungrum- blingly when there is no help for it. Certes, the departure from home and old usages is any thing but pleasant, especially at the outset. It is a sort of secondary " weaning" which the juvenile has to un- dergo ; but like the first process, he is all the health- ier and hardier when it is over. In this way, it is a wholesome thing to be tossed about the world. To form odd acquaintance in ships, on the decks of steam boats and tops of coaches ; to pick up tem- 2 14 TRAVELING, porary companions on turnpikes or by hedge-sides ; to see humanity in the rough, and learn what stuff hfe js made of in different places ; to mark the shades and points of distinction in men, manners, customs, cookery, and other important matters as you stroll along. What an universal toleration it begets ! How it improves and enlarges a man's physical and intellectual tastes and capacities ! How diminutively local and ridiculously lilliputian seem his former experiences ! He is now no longer big- otted to a doctrine or a dish, but can fall in with one, or eat of the other, however strange and fo- reign, with a facility that is truly comfortable and commendable : always, indeed, excepting, such doctrines as affect the feelings and sentiments, which he should ever keep " garner'd up" in his *' heart of hearts ;" and also, always excepting the swallowing of certain substances, so very peculiar in themselves, and so strictly national, that the undisciplined palate of the foreigner instinctively and utterly rejects them, such as the frog of your Frenchman — the garlic of your Spaniard — the compounds termed sausages of your Cockney — the haggis of your Scotchman — the train-oil of your Russian. He has but little of the ardent spirit of boyhood, or the mounting spirit of manhood in him, who can quietly seat himself by his father's hearth, dear MENTALLY AND BODILY. 15 though it* be, until that hearth, by virtue of inher' itance becomes his own, without a wish to see how the world wags beyond the walls of his native town. How mulish and uncompromising he grow- eth up ! How very indocile and incredulous he becometh ! To him localities are truths — ^right is wrong and wrong is right, just as they fall in with or differ from the customs of his district ; and all that is rare or curious or strange or wonderful or different from what he has been accustomed to,. is measured by the petty standard of his own expe- rience, and dogmatically censured or praised accord- ingly. Such men are incurable, and what is worse, legal nuisances — they can neither be abated by law nor logic. I like human nature of quite a different pat- tern. A boy, especially, is all the better for a strong infusion of credulity in his composition. He should swallow an hyperbole unhesitatingly, and digest it without difficulty. It is better for a juve- nile to be ingenuous than ingenious. It is better for him to study Baron Munchausen than Poor Richard's Maxims. The Baron's inventions fertilize his imagination without injuring his love of truth ; Poor Richard's truisms teach him nothing but that cold worldly wisdom he is almost sure to learn, and learn too soon. Strong drink is not for babes and 16 TRAVELING. sucklings ; neither is miserly, hard-hearteH proverbs -r-^^ a penny saved is a penny earned" — " a groat a day is a pound a year," and such like arithmetical wisdom. Keep it from them: it takes the edge off their young sensibilities, and sets them calculat- ing their charities. They will learn selfishness soon enough without taking regular lessons. The good Samaritan, honest man, cared not a fig-leaf for such axioms, or he too would have "passed by on the other side." Not that I mean to question the utility of arith- metical studies for children, or inculcate the neglect of worthy proficients or professors therein. Hutton, Tinwell, Bonnycastle, or more ancient Cocker ; — far from it, I have too severely ere now experienced the ill-effects of slighting the multiplication table and other loftier branches of arithmetic ; but I could not then help it. I was a great traveler when a boy, though not in the body; in imagination I had circumnavigated the globe. A book of voyages and travels was to me better than a holiday, and I devoured the pages of Wallis, Oartwright, Byron, and other navigators with an appetite that now seems to me to have been really preternatural. How I used to trudge away, not unwillingly to school, if I had only Robinson Crusoe (which was then a most veritable and authentic document) smuggled MENTALLY AND BODILY. 17 away in my satchel amidst grammars, dictionaries, and other necessary and disagreeable productions. Then Cook's Voyages ! What an oceeTn of pleasure to me were his ocean wanderings ! How did they divide, or rather completely abstract my faculties from subtraction, multiplication, or division (short or long) ! I was saihng far away, in the good ship Endeavor, over the inimitable Pacific, — what were vulgar fractions to me? I coasted through the Friendly Islands and took no heed of decimals ; and, as far at least as I was concerned, arithmetical progression became stationar)^ I might be ostensi- bly in practice ; but my practice was to go on in- dulging in stolen sweets •' from morn till noon, from noon till dewey eve," until the awful hour of retri- bution arrived, and I was called upon to exhibit the sum total of my day's industry. This generally consisted of one or more questions " cabbaged" or stolen from some of my precursors in those difficul- ties. Sometimes they passed muster ; but oh ! the opaque darkness — the cheerless, hopeless, mental blindness in which I found myself enveloped when- ever my worthy teacher requested me to " show how I came by the answer." How I came by it in one sense — how improperly and feloniously I came by it, I knew full well ; but as for establishing any legitimate claim to the product, as for showing by 18 TRAVELING. any given process how the answer could be cor- rectly deduced from the premises, it was only a waste of his time and mine to request such a thing. Then poor left hand, came thy trial — " not for thine own demerits but for mine," fell blows from supple cane or leathern thong right heavily on thee ! Many a blush and bruise La Perouse and Captain Cook cost thee — ill-used member — unfortunate extremity. But I was incorrigible. Blows ^nd admonitions were equally unavailable. I did not see or feel the moral justice of either one or the other ; they were to me things of course — necessities, not judicious punishments ; inevitable consequences, which must be endured and could not be avoided, and the next day I was again amongst my old friends the island- ers, tattooing warriors, roasting dogs and marvelling how such " strange flesh" would eat when cooked, or performing any other equally curious or inge- nious operations. When not reading I was dream- ing. From the hubbub of the school I could trans- port myself in a twinkling to some fair Otaheitan isle— some speck of verdure that " lit the ocean with a smile," where summer, and gentle gales, and beauteous flowers, and odoriferous spices were per- petual ; and there, where " feathery cocoas fring'd the bay," would I lay myself down and watch the breaking of the waves upon the sparkling shore, MENTALLY AND BODILY, 19 until the tumbling of a slate or book, or the harsh growl of the master, startled me from my day-dream and brought me to a sense of things more immedi- ate and material. But I possessed in a high degree the happy faculty of abstraction — a faculty that can transplant you in an instant from the dullest scenes and company to the brightest and gayest — and in a few moments I was again " all abroad" — ^listening to the roar of Niagara — scrambling over the blue mountains of Jamaica — lolling in the orange groves of the Indies, — until, after years of wandering I would fancy myself returning to anxious friends and old companions. *' When the flower was in the bud, and the leaf upon the tree, With the lark to sing me hamc to my ain countree." What was the petty pain of a few blows (I never felt the disgrace) to such visions of delight ? Noth- ing. And so I continued — a boy inured to stripes, and utterly destitute of all marks or orders of merit — the tail of my class — the superlative degree of comparison for idleness and inability. No " speci- men" of my proficency in the art of chirography was ever exhibited before company in the parlor of my parents; nor " When friends were met, and goblets crown'd," was I ever called upon, like other boys, to exem- 20 TRAVELING. plify the beauties of the British Poets by my juvenile powers of recitation. I have traveled much in reality since then, and beheld with the corporeal eye many of the scenes and places that looked so surpassingly fair to my inward vision in former times. I have become " familiar with strange faces," and have made friends and acquaintance in far-off countries. But time and the world have done their usual work with me as with others. I am changed — vilely sophisticated ; the smoke of cities is upon my soul, and innumerable trivial sensualities have imper- ceptibly clogged the elastic spring of the spirit within me. To enjoy the company of old mother nature now, I must have " all appliances and means to boot" — be easy and comfortable, neither hungry nor athirst, instead of seeking her in every form and mood as of yore. But this is the way, more or less, with us all. As we grow up, we acquire an unconscious preference for art above nature — we love the country less and the town more, and shady walks and " hedge rows green" are forsaken for well- paved streets and public promenades. We muddle our brains with politics and political economy, and form attachments to newspapers and distilled and fermented liquors that it is often difficult to shake off. Oh the lamentable deterioration of human nature I MENTALLY AND BODILY. 5Jl We are the antipodes (to our disadvantage,) of even the despised caterpillar tribe. We do not expand from the grub into the butterfly, but degenerate from the butterfly into the grub. When boys — or wingless butterflies, — we disport in the free air and sunshine, clad in the hues of health, and as free from care or trouble as the lilies of the field. Every returning day brings animation and enjoyment — " Flowers in the valley, splendor in the beam, Health in the gale, and freshness in the stream," until the remorseless usages of the world appren- tice us to doctors, tailors, lawyers, merchants, ship- WTights, sugar-bakers, <. 100 A WALK IN BROADWAY. of Naples— the gravity of Madrid, and the gaiety of Paris. Two thousand years ago, the " eternal city" had her belles and beaux, her flirts and dandies (a Roman dandy !) — and two thousand years hence, or less time, will the cannibals of New- Zealand have eschewed war dances and raw vic- tuals, and have their blue-stocking tea-parties, bis- cuit and lemonade soirees^ French cooks, and fa- shionable quadrilles, as well as anybody. All is still " The everlasting to be, that hath been ;" and the probability is, that the antediluvians wrote poetry, told lies, wore whiskers, and cheated their neighbors, just as we do now. It is also pleasant, as well as curious and profita- ble, in roaming through a large city, to contrast its present with its former situation — to compare what it has been with what it is, and to speculate on what it may be. New- York, to be sure, is not rich in historical recollections, for she is comparatively a thing of yesterday. In walking her streets we do not feel as in the ancient capitals of Europe, that our footsteps, perchance, fall on the very places where those of the mighty dead have fallen before us. In the older streets of London, we know that we are walking where Richard, Duke of Gloucester, A WALK IN BROADWAY. 101 '' high-reaching Buckingham," or Harry Hotspur, actually walked, and that Shakspeare and Milton familiarly trod even where we then tread ; or the High-street of Edinburgh — where the Leslie and the Seyton, the Gordon and the Douglass, were wont foolishly and gallantly to stab and dirk each other for the " crown o' the causeway." True, all is now common-place and familiar ; the merchant plods homeward with his umbrella under his arm, instead of his rapier by his side. But great as the change is there from the past to the present, it has still been gradual. Step by step have they toiled their way from barbarism to civilization. Here, it has been as the shifting of the scenery in a play, rather than sober reality. It is but as the other day when the forest flourished where now '' mer- chants most do congregate," and the streamlet mur- nmred where the gin-shop stands. The council-fires blazed and the sachems spoke to their young men where now the honorable Richard Riker and the honorable the corporation hold '• long talks" about small matters. The wigwam sent its tiny wreaths of smoke into the clear air, where now the bank coffee-house pours forth volumes of odoriferous steam to mingle with the masses of vapor that over- hang the city like a cloud ; and its tables groan with " all the delicacies of the season" where the 9* 10^ A WALK IN BROADWAY. deer from the wood and the fish from the stream were cooked and eaten without the aid of pepper and salt — two of the greatest blessings of civiliza- tion. And not more different than the scenes were the actors concerned in them. Step aside, good reader, and mark them as they now pass along Broadway. The first is one but little known to Indian life — one who lives by the folly and roguery of the fools and rogues around him — a lawyer. He is clad in solemn black, as if that were ominous of the gloom which follows in his train. What would the In- dian, with his untaught natural sense of right and wrong, think of this man's " quiddets, his quillets, his cases, his tenures and his* tricks ;'' and of " his statutes, his recognizances, his fines, his double vouchers and his recoveries ?" Alas ! the poor In- dian has but too deeply felt his power and the power of his brethren in the modern " black art.'* They conjured away his pleasant haunts " under the greenwood tree," his silver streams teeming with life, his beautiful lakes and fair hunting grounds, all " according to law," and left him a string of beads and a bottle of firerwater, a bruised heart and a broken spirit in their place. Here comes another product of the present times, neither rare nor valuable, indigenous to Broadway, and A WALK IN BROADWAY. 103 flourishing there in pecuUar rankness ; a modern Sir Fopling Flutter, of whom it may well be said with the poet, " Nature disclaims the thing — a tailor made him !" Mark with what affected effeminacy the full-grown baby lounges along, and the air of listless indiffer- ence or slightly awakened surprise with which it is his pleasure to regard a fine woman ; but what, indeed, are all the women in the world to this cari- cature of manhood, in comparison with his own sweet self? Anon, another variety of the same genus appears, quite as contemptible, not so amus- ing, and a great deal more disagreeable. This is your ruffian-dandy ; one who affects a dashing carelessness in his dress and deportment, wears good clothes in a very ill fashion, and has generally a checked shirt, a sailor's hat, or some other arti- cle of dress sufficiently different from the ordinary costume of those around him to render him an ob- ject of notoriety. Mark the easy dignity of that swagger as he rolls along, staring impudently at all the women and frowning valiantly at all the men, as if he expected every moment to be insulted, and was afraid his courage might not be screwed up " to the sticking place." A sort of personage not unlike Mike Lambourne in Kenilworth, allowing 104 A WALK IN BROADWAT for the modifications of the times. But lo ! what comes next — dame nature's loveUest work, a wo- man ; butj heaven and earth ! how the mantua- maker has spoiled her ! Why, what frippery have we here ? Silks and lace, ribbons and gauze, fea- thers, flowers, and flounces ! Not but that these are all excellent things in their way, when judi- ciously used ; but to see them all clustered, as in the present instance, on one woman at one time, is what the proverb states to be " too much of a good thing," or what the poet terms " wasteful and ridi- culous excess." Then look at those sleeves in which her arms are lost, and that acre of hat upon her head, with a sufficiency of wheat ears and flowers on it, were they real, to feed a family or stock a garden. And see ! as far as the eye can reach it rests on colors as varied and fantastical as the butterflies in summer or the leaves in autumn, in which the dear creatures have arrayed them- selves. Oh, matrimony, matrimony ! thou art in- deed becoming a luxury in w^hich the rich and opu- lent alone will be able to indulge. Nine small children might be supported, but to deck out one of Eve's daughters in this fashion three hundred and sixty-five days in the year, is what nothing but a prize in the lottery or a profitable bankruptcy is equal to. — Still on they pass in throngs : the A WALK IN BROADWAY. 105 grave and thoughtful student, abstracted from all around, building up his day-dream of fame, for- tune, and beauty, and then in love with the cun- ning coinage of his own brain ; and the rich old merchant, not in love with any thing but still in raptures, for cotton has risen an eighth. On they pass, the whiskered Don, the sallow Italian, the bulky EngUshman, and the spare Frenchman, all as eager (as a professed moralist might say,) in the pursuit of business and pleasure, as if enjoyment were perpetual and life eternal : and all this where, but a little while ago, the wolf made his lair, and the savage his dwelling-place. Verily, as a profound German philosopher acutely though cautiously ob- served — " let a man live long enough, and it is pro- bable he will see many changes," STEAM. I had a dream, which was not all a dream. — Byron, Modern philosophy, anon, Will, at the rate she's rushing on , Yoke lightning to her railroad-car, And, posting like a shooting star, Swift as a solar radiation Ride the grand circuit of creation ! — Anon. I HAVE a bilious friend, who is a great admirer and imitator of Lord Byron ; that is, he affects misan- thropy, masticates tobacco, has his shirts made without collars, calls himself a miserable man, and writes poetry with a glass of gin-and-water before him. His gin, though far from first-rate, is better than his poetry ; the latter, indeed, being worse than that of many authors of the present day, and scarcely fit even for an album ; however, he does not think so, and makes a great quantity. At his lodgings, a few evenings ago, among other morbid productions, he read me one entitled " Steam," written in very blank verse, and evidently modelled after the noble poet's STEAM. 107 " Darkness," in Avhich he takes a bird's-eye view of the world two or three centuries hence, describes things in general, and comes to a conclusion with, '' Steam was the universe !" Whether it was the fumes arising from this piece of " written" vapor, or whether I had unconsciously imbibed more hol- lands than my temperate habits allow of, I cannot say, but I certainly retired to bed hke Othello, " per- plexed in the extreme." There was no " dream- less sleep" for me that night, and Q,ueen Mab drove full gallop through every nook and cranny of my brain. Strange and fantastical visions floated be- fore me, till at length came one with all the force and clearness of reahty. I thought I stood upon a gentle swell of ground, and looked down on the scene beneath me. It was a pleasant sight, and yet a stranger might have passed it by unheeded ; but to me it was as the green spot in the desert, for there I recognised the haunts of my boyhood. There was the wild com- mon on which I had so often scampered " frae mor- nin sun till dine," skirted by the old wood, through which the burn stole tinkhng to the neighboring river. There was the little ivy-covered church with its modest spire and immoveable weathercock, and clustering around lay the village that I knew con- tained so many kind and loving hearts. All looked 108 STEAM. just as it did on the summer morning when I left it, and went wandering over this weary world. To me the very trees possessed an individuality ; the branches of the old oak (there was but one) seemed to nod famiharly towards me, the music of the rippling water fell pleasantly on my ear, and the passing breeze murmured of " home, sweet home." The balmy air was laden with the hum of unseen insects, and filled with the fragrance of a thousand common herbs and flowers ; and to my eyes the place looked prettier and pleasanter than any they have since rested on. As I gazed, the " womanish moisture" made dim my sight, and I felt that yearning of the heart which every man who has a soul feels — let him go where he will, or reason how he will — on once more beholding the spot where the only pure, unsullied part of his ex- istence passed away. — Suddenly the scehe changed. The quiet, smiling village vanished, and a busy, crowded city occupied its place. The wood was gone, the brook dried up, and the common cut to pieces and covered with a kind of iron gangways. I looked upon the surrounding country, if country it could be called, where vegetable nature had ceased to exist. The neat, trim gardens, the ver- dant lawns and swelling uplands, the sweet-scented meadows and waving corn-fields were all swept STEAM. 109 away, and fruit, and flowers, and herbage, appeared to be things uncared for and unknown. Houses and factories, and turnpikes and railroads, were scattered all around, and along the latter, as if pro- pelled by some unseen, infernal power, monstrous machines flew with inconceivable swiftness. Peo- ple were crowding and jostling each other on all sides. I mingled with them, but they were not like those I had formerly known — they walked, talked, and transacted business of all kinds with astonishing celerity. Every thing was done in a hurry ; they eat, drank, and slept in a hurry ; they danced, sung, and made love in a hurry ; they married, died, and were buried in a hurry, and resurrection-men had them out of their graves be- fore they well knew they were in them. Whatever was done, was done upon the high-pressure princi- ple. No person stopped to speak to another in the street ; but as they moved rapidly on their way, the men talked faster than the women do now, and the women talked twice as fast as ever. Many were bald, and on asking the reason, I was given to un- derstand they had been great travelers, and that the rapidity of modern conveyances hterally scalped those who journeyed much in them, sweeping whis- kers, eye-brows, eye-lashes, in fact, every thing in any way moveable, from their faces. Animal life VOL. I. 10 110 STEAM. appeared to be extinct ; carts and carriages came rattling down the highways horseless and driver- less, and wheelbarrows trundled along without any visible agency. Nature was out of fashion, and the world seemed to get along tolerably Well with- out her. At the foot of the street my attention was at- tracted by a house they were building of prodigious dimensions, being no less than seventeen stories high. On the top of it several men were at work, when, dreadful to relate, the foot of one of them slipped, and he was precipitated to the earth with a fearful crash. Judge of my horror and indignation on observing the crowd pass unheeding by, scarcely deigning to cast a look on their fellow-creature, who doubtless lay weltering in his water, and the rest of the workmen went on with their various avocations without a moment's pause in consequence of the accident. On approaching the spot, I heard several in passing murmur the most incomprehensible ob- servations. " Only a steam man," said one. " Won't cost much," said another. " His boiler overcharged, I suppose,*' cried a third, '* the way in which all these accidents happen!" and true enough, there lay a man of tin and sheet-iron, wel- tering in hot water. The superintendent of the concern, who was not a steam man, but made of STEAM. Ill the present materials, gave it as his opinion that the springs were damaged, and the steam-vessels a httle ruptured, but not much harm done, and straightway sent the corpse to the blacksmith's (who was a flesh-and-blood man) to be repaired. Here was then at once a new version of the old Greek fable, and modern Prometheuses were ac- tually as " plentiful as blackberries." In fact, I found upon inquiry, that society was now divided into two great classes, living and " locomotive" men, the latter being much the better and honester people of the two ; and a fashionable political econo- mist, of the name of Malthus, a lineal descendant of an ancient, and it appears rather inconsistent system-monger, had just published an elaborate pamphlet, showing the manifold advantages of propagating those no-provender-consuming indi- viduals in preference to any other. So that it ap- peared, that any industrious mechanic might in three months have a full-grown family about him, with the full and comfortable assurance that, as the man says in Chrononhotonthologos, " they were all his own and none of his neighbors." These things astonished, but they also perplexed and wearied me. My spirit grew sick, and I longed for the old world again, and its quiet and peaceable* modes of enjoyment. I had no fellowship with the 112 STEAM. two new races of beings around me, and nature and her charms were no more. All things seemed forced, unnatural, unreal — indeed, little better than barefaced impositions. I sought the hanks of my native river ; it alone remained unchanged. The noble stream flowed gently and tranquilly as of yore, but even here impertinent man had been at work, and pernicious railroads were formed to its very verge. I incautiously crossed one of them., trusting to my preconceived notions of time and space, the abhorred engine being about three quar- ters of a mile from me, but scarcely had I stepped over, when it flew whizzing past the spot I had just quitted, and catching me in its eddy, spun me around like a top under the lash. It was laden with passengers, and went with headlong fury straight towards the river. Its fate seemed inevi- table^another instant and it would be immersed in the waves, when lo I it suddenly sunk into the bosom of the earth, and in three seconds was as- cending a perpendicular hill on the opposite bank of the river. I was petrified, and gazed around with an air of helpless bewilderment, when a gen- tleman, who was doubtless astonished at my asto-^ nishment, shouted in passing, " What's the fellow staring at ?" and another asked " if I had never seen a tunnel before T STEAM. 113 Like Lear, " my wits began to turn." I wished for some place where I might hide myself from all around, and turned instinctively to the spot where the village ale-house used to stand. But where, alas ! was the neat thatched cottage that was wont so often to " impart An hour's importance to the poor man's heart ?'' Gone ! and in its place stood a huge fabric, label- led " Grand Union Railroad Hotel." But here also it was steam, steam, nothing but steam ! The rooms were heated by steam, the beds were made and aired by steam, and instead of a pretty, red- lipped, rosy-cheeked chambermaid, there was a cursed machine-man smdothing down the pillows and bolsters with mathematical precision ; the vic- tuals wece cooked by steam ; yea, even the meat roasted by steam ! Instead of the clean-swept hearth " With aspen boughs, and flowers, and fennel gay," there was a patent steam-stove, and the place was altogether hotter than any decent man would ever expect to have any thing to do with. Books and papers lay scattered on a table. I took up one of the former ; it was filled with strange new phrases, all more or less relating to steam, of which I knew 10* 114 STEAM. nothing, but as far as I could make out the English of the several items, they ran somewhat thus : . " Another shocking catastrophe, — As the war- ranted-safe locomotive smoke-consuming, fuel-pro- viding steam-carriage Lightning, was this morning proceeding at its usual three-quarter speed of one hundred and twenty-seven miles an hour, at the junction of the Hannington and Slipsby rail-roads it unfortunately came in contact with the steam- carriage Snail, going about one hundred and five miles per hour. Of course both vehicles with their passengers were instantaneously reduced to an im- palpable powder. The friends of the deceased have the consolation of knowing that no blame can possi- bly attach to the intelligent proprietors of the Light- ning, it having been clearly ascertained that those of the Snail started their carriage full two seconds before the time agreed on, in order to obviate in some degree, the delay to which passengers were unavoidably subjected by the clumsy construction and tedious pace of their vehicle." " Melancholy accident. — As a beautiful and ac- complished young lady of the name of Jimps, a passenger in the Swift-as-thought-locomotive, was endeavoring to catch a flying glimpse of the new Steam University, her breathing apparatus unfor- tunately slipped from her mouth, and she was a STEAM 115 corpse in three quarters of a second. A young gentleman, who had been tenderly attached to her for several days, in the agony of his feelings with- drew his air tube and called for help ; he of course shared a similar fate. Too much praise cannot be given to the rest of the passengers, who, with inimi- table presence of mind, prudently held their breath- ing-bladders to their mouths during the whole of this trying scene," (fee. A Liverpool paper stated that " The stock for the grand Liverpool and Dubhn tunnel under the Irish channel, is nearly filled up." And a Glasgow one advocated the necessity of a floating wooden rail- road between Scotland and the Isle of Man, in order to do away with the tiresome steamboat naviga- tion. I took up a volume of poems, but the similes and metaphors were all steam ; all their ideas of strength, and power, and swiftness, referred to steam only, and a sluggish man was compared to a greyhound. I looked into a modern dictionary for some light on these subjects, but got none, ex- cept finding hundreds of curious definitions, such as these * " Horse, s. an animal of which but little is now known. Old writers affirm that there were at one time several thousands in this country." " Tree, s. a vegetable production ; once plenti- XX6 STEAM, ful in these parts, and still to be found in remote districts." " Tranquillity^ s. obsolete ; an unnatural state of existence, to which the ancients were very par- tial. The word is to be met with in several old authors," &c. &c. In despair I threw down the book, and rushed out of the house. It was mid-day, but a large theatre was open, and the people were pouring in. I entered with the rest, and found that whatever changes had taken place, money was still money. They were playing Hamlet by steam, and this was better than any other purpose to which I had seen it applied. The automata really got along won- derfully well, their speaking faculties being arranged upon the barrel-organ principle greatly improved, and they roared, and bellowed, and strutted, and swung their arms to and fro as sensibly as many admired actors. Unfortunately in the grave scene, owing to some mechanical misconstruction, Ham- let exploded, and in doing so, entirely demolished one of the grave-diggers, carried away a great part of Laertes, and so injured the rest of the 'dramatis persOnse that they went off one after the other like so many crackers, filling the house with heated va- por. I made my escape, but on reaching the street, things there were ten times worse than ever. STEAM. 117 It was the hour for stopping and starting the seve- ral carriages, and no language can describe the state of the atmosphere. Steam was generating and evaporating on all sides — the bright sun was obscured — the people looked par-boiled, and the neighboring fisherman's lobsters changed color on the instant ; even the steam inhabitants appeared uncomfortably hot. I could scarcely breathe — there was a blowing, a roaring, a hissing, a fiz- zing, a whizzing going on all around — fires were blazing, water was bubbling, boilers were bursting — when, lo ! I suddenly awoke and found myself in a state of profuse perspiration. I started up, ran to the window, and saw several milkmen and ba- kers' carts, with horses in them, trotting merrily along. I was a thankful man. I put on my clothes, and while doing so, made up my mind to read no more manuscript poems, and eschew gin and water for the time to come. BIOGRAPHY OF JACOB HAYS.* '- He is a man, take him for all in all We shall not look Aipon his like again. — Shaks. Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce to your acquaintance. Baron iVa6em, a person who has a very taking way with him. — Tom and Jerry. Perhaps there is no species of composition so ge- nerally interesting and truly delightful as minute and indiscriminate biography, and it is pleasant to perceive how this taste is gradually increasing. The time is apparently not far distant when every man will be found busy writing the life of his neighbor, and expect to have his own written in return, interspersed with original anecdotes, extracts from epistolary correspondence, the exact hours at which he was in the habit of going to bed at night and getting up in the morning, and other miscella- neous and useful information carefully selected and judiciously arranged. Indeed, it is whispered that the editors of this papert intend to take Longworth's * This was written during an awful prevalence of biographies, t The New-York Min-or. BIOGRAPHY OF JACOB HAYS. II9 Directory for the groundwork, and give the private history of all the city alphabetically, without " fear or favor — love or affection." In Europe there exists an absolute biographical mania, and they are ma- nufacturing lives of poets, painters, play-actors, peers, pugilists, pick-pockets, horse jockeys, and their horses, together with a great many people that are scarcely known to have existed at all. And the fashion now is not only to shadow forth the grand and striking outlines of a great man's character, and hold to view those quahties which elevated him above his species, but to go into the minutiae of his private life, and note down all the trivial expressions and every day occurrences in which, of course, he merely spoke and acted like any ordinary man. This not only affords employ- ment for the exercise of the small curiosity and meddUng propensities of his oflficious biographer, but is also highly gratifying to the general reader, inas- much as it elevates him mightily in his own opi- nion to see it put on record that great men ate, drank, slept, walked, and sometimes talked just as he does. In giving the biography of the high con- stable of this city, I shall by all means avoid de- scending to undignified particulars ; though I deem it important to state, before proceeding further, that there is not the slightest foundation for the report 120 BIOGRAPHY OF JACOB HAYS. afloat that Mr. Hays has left off eating buckwheat cakes in a morning, in consequence of their lying loo heavily on his stomach. Where the subject of the present memoir was born, can be but of little consequence ; who were his father and mother, of still less ; and how he was bred and educated, of none at all. I shall there- fore pass over this division of his existence in elo- quent silence, and come at. once to the period when he attained the acme of constabulatory power and dignity by b6ing created high constable of this city and its suburbs ; and it may be remarked, in pass- ing, that the honorable the corporation, during their long and unsatisfactory career, never made an ap- pointment more creditable to themselves, more be- neficial to the city, more honorable to the country at large, more imposing in the eye of foreign nations, more disagreeable to all rogues, nor more gratifying to honest men, than that of the gentle- man whom we are biographizing, to the high office he now holds. His acuteness and vigilance have become proverbial ; and there is not a misdeed committed by any member of this community, but he is speedily admonished that he will " have old Hays [as he is affectionately and familiarly termed] after him." Indeed, it is supposed by many that he is gifted with supernatural attributes, and can BIOGRAPHY OF JACOB HAYS. 121 see things that are hid from mortal ken ; or how, it is contended, is it possible that he should, as he does, '* Bring forth the secret'st rnan of blood V^ That he can discover " undivulged crime"~that when a store has been robbed, he, without stop or hesitation, can march directly to the house where the goods are concealed, and say, '• these are they" — or, when a gentleman's pocket has been picked, that, from a crowd of unsavory miscreants he can, with unerring judgment, lay his hand upon one and exclaim '* you're wanted !" — or how is it that he is gifted with that strange principle of ubiquity that makes him " here, and there, and everywhere" at the same moment? No matter how, so long as the pubhc reap the benefit ; and well may that public apostrophize him in the words of the poet : •' Long may he live ! our city's pride ! Where lives the rogue, but flies before him ! With trusty crabstick by his side, And staff of office waving o'er him." But it is principally as a literary man that we would speak of Mr. Hays. True, his poetry is " unwritten," as is also his prose ; and he has inva- riably expressed a decided contempt for philosophy, VOL. I. 11 122 BIOGRAPHY OF JACOB HAYS. music, rhetoric, the belles lettresy the fine arts, and in fact all species of composition excepting bailiff ^s warrants and bills of indictment — but what of that 'I The constitution of his mind is, even unknown to himself, decidedly poetical. And here I may be allowed to avail myself of another peculiarity of modern biography, namely, that of describing a man by what he is not. Mr. Hays has not the graphic power or antiquarian lore of Sir Walter Scott — ^nor the glittering imagery or voluptuous tenderness of Moore — nor the deUcacy and polish of Rogers — nor the spirit of Campbell — nor the sen- timentalism of Miss Land on — nor the depth and purity of thought and intimate acquaintance with nature of Bryant — nor the brilliant style and play- ful humor of Halleck — no, he is more in the petit larceny manner of Crabbe, with a slight touch of Byronic power and gloom. He is familiarly ac- quainted with all those interesting scenes of vice and poverty so fondly dwelt upon by that reverend chronicler of little villany, and if ever he can be prevailed upon to publish, there will doubtless be found a remarkable similarity in their works. His height is about five feet seven inches, but who makes his clothes we have as yet been imable to ascertain. His countenance is strongly marked. BIOGRAPHY OF JACOB HAYS. 123 and forcibly brings to mind the lines of Byron when describing his Corsair : There was a laughing devil in his sneer That raised emotions both of hate and fear ; And where his glance of " apprehension," fell, Hope withering fled, and mercy sighed, farewell! Yet with all his great qiiahties. it is to be doubted whether he is much to be envied. His situation certainly has its disadvantages. Pure and blame- less as his life is, his society is not courted — ho man boasts of his friendship, and few indeed like even to own him for an intimate acquaintance. Wher- ever he goes his slightest action is watched and cri- ticized ; and if he happen carelessly to lay his hand upon a gentleman's shoulder and whisper some- thing in his ear, even that man, as if there were contamination in his touch, is seldom or never seen afterwards in decent society. Such things cannot fail to prey upon his feelings. But when did ever greatness exist without some penalty attached to it? The first time that ever Hays was pointed out to me, was one summer afternoon, when acting in his official capacity in the city-hall. The room was crowded in every part, and as he entered with a luckless wretch in his gripe, a low suppressed 124 BIOGRAPHY OF JACOB HAYS. murmur ran through the hall, as if some superior being had alighted in the midst of them. He placed the prisoner at the bar — a poor coatless in- dividual, with scarcely any edging and no roQf to his hat — to stand his trial for bigamy, and then, in a loud, authoritative tone, called out for " silence, '^ and there was silence. Again he spoke — '-hats off \here 1" and the multitude became uncovered ; after which he took his handkerchief out of his left-hand coat pocket, wiped his face, put it back again, looked sternly around, and then sat down. The scene was awful and impressive; but the odor was disagreeable in consequence of the heat acting upon a large quantity of animal matter congre- gated together. My olfactory organs were always lamentably acute : I was obliged to retire, and from that time to this, I have seen nothing, though 1 have heard much of the subject of this brief and imperfect, but, I trust, honest and impar- tial memoir. Health and happiness be with thee, thoii prince of constables — thou guardian of innocence — -thou terror of evil doers and little boys ! May thy years be many and thy sorrows few — may ihj life be like a long and cloudless summer's day, and may thy salary be increased ! And when at last the BIOGRAPHY OF JACOB HAYS. 125 summons comes from which there is no escaping — when the warrant arrives upon which no bail can be put in — when thou thyself, that hast " wanted" so many, art in turn " wanted and must go,"' " May St thou fall Into the grave as softly as the leaves Of the sweet roses on an autnmn eve, Beneath the small sighs of the w estern wind. Drop to the earth !" LOVE OF CHANGE— HOUSE HUNTING. Man never is, but always to be blest. — Pope. There must be a great quantity of Dutch blood in this city, for the euphonious names of Vanbenscho- len, Yanvredenburgh, Vanvoorhis, Vanoutersturp, Vanschaick, Vanbokkehn, Vanmeerbeekie, Vogel- sang, Vonck, Volk, Vogt, &c. are to be met with in every street, and at every corner ; but in what street or at what corner are to be found the still and tranquil virtues, the sedate and circumspect demeanor, the profound love of ease and phlegmatic temperament of the ancient denizens of Manahatta ? In the good old times that have for ever passed away from this island, a man might be born, reared, married, . and buried within a circuit of three miles ; and a true Dutchman would as soon have thought of going to bed without his night-cap, as of chopping and changing about from one house to another. W^her- ever he first inhaled the breath of life, there he exhaled it. It was quite clear to his mind that HOUSE HUNTING. 12T 'Providence had cast his lot in a certain street, and a certain house, and for him to think of emig-rating to another, would not only be presumptuously set- ting up his judgment against high authority, but a great waste of bodily exertion. Indeed, when he looked around, and saw all the furniture firmly fixed — the ponderous dresser — the solemn clock — the substantial table — ^just as his great-grandfather had placed them when the first ship first drifted from Holland to this coast, the idea of pulling them from their places, carrying them out into the open air, and setting them up in another domicile, seem- ed not only a sacrilegious disturbance of the house- hold gods, but an enterprise requiring so much toil and trouble, as to make it scarcely worth the while attempting, considering the short time that is allot- ted for man to sojourn in this world. So lived the forefathers of a goodly portion of .the present quick- silver generation. They worked when there was no help for it, and sat still whenever they could : they counted over their bright silver dollars (the only kind of change a Dutchman loves) and put them carefully away in their old stockings — they took their g'lass of genuine Schedam, they smoked their pipes in peace— '• They eat and drank and slept. What then ' They eat and drank and slept again." 128 1-OVE OF CHANGE, And even so passed away the mortal existence of the forefathers of the identical Master Cicero Van- derscholten, that goes to masquerades and executes pigeon-wings and pirouettes with such grace and agility ; and so lived the progenitors of Miss Cecilia Ameha Anna Maria Vanwaggenen, that makes a noise on the piano, and keeps an album ! O tem- pora, O mores ! Of all the civilized nations on the face of the earth, the Americans seem to attach the least value to a " local habitation ;" and of all the parts of America, New-York is the most restless. Its citi- zens seem to be born with a feverish love of change and excitement, which pervades, more or less, every action of their lives, and to this they sacrifice friends, interest, and convenience. They put no faith in the proverb — " let well enough alone" — but are always ready to give up " well enough" in the desperate hope of getting something better. They must be in motion, and that motion is about as different from that of their Dutch ancestors as the motion of a duck pond on a calm day is from that of the rapids of Niagara. In business they are fickle to a degree that appears, and really is, heartless and unfeehng. They will give up a tradesman that has served them well and faithfully, and in whom they can place confidence, to run after some fresh HOUSE HUNTING. 129 adventurer, of whom they know nothing. But this is the way all over the country : and a trades- man has in reaUty just as httle consideration- for his customers as his customers have for him. A man commences business in a small city ; in the course of time forms acquaintance and connexions, and finds himself getting along, as he says, " as comfortably as he can wish," when suddenly he hears of some new town that has sprung up in the wilderness, where they " are doing considerable of a business ;" and, without more to do, he sells off his stock, takes leave, without regret, of kind friends and familiar faces, and sets off to the land of pro- mise to run a similar career. This is a national trait, and does not attach, with any peculiar force, to this city ; but, for the love of change in their places of residence, the New-Yorkers are particu- larly famous. They never regard a house as a kind of inanimate friend — one who has protected them from cold, and rain, and tempest, and by whose hearth they have spent many happy hours, and enjoyed many comforts ; but merely as a tem- porary covering, under whose roof it would be a sin, shame, and a folly to live two years in succes- sion. Accordingly, on the first of May, when peo- ple all over the world are enjoying that charming season among fields and flowers, the sagacious 130 LOVE OF CHANGE, citizens of New- York think they have lived quite long enough in one place, and prepare to pitch their tents elsewhere. Those that live up tow^n come down, and those that live down town go up ; and amidst disjointed furniture, broken crockery, dust, dirt, and vermin, they hail the genial approach of smiling May. After spending their money, losing their regular dinners, and suffocating themselves for three or four days, they squat down in their new domicile for another twelvemonth. But it is not only the miseries attending the com- mittal of the act itself, but also the preliminary ones which bespeak its approach, that are to be taken into account. There is a great and crying evil at present existent in this city, entitled, " house hunting," which disturbs the peace of families, and is productive of much scandal and other ill conse- quences. It appears that on the first day of Feb- ruary the householders notify their several land- lords that they have only one more quarter's rent to expect from them, and immediately after such notification, nearly all the tenements in the city are labelled " this house to let," inquire so and so. A stranger would naturally suppose that the plague, the yellow fever, or some tremendous evil was mo- mentarily expected, and that the inhabitants were about to seek safety, en masse, in flight. No such HOUSE HUNTING. 131 thing ; but from that tune the proud boast, that " a man's house is his castle," no longer belongs to the citizens of New-York. A Spaniard's doors are not more open to the holy fathers of the inquisition, or a place-hunter's to a man in office, than are his to all the impertinent people who please to demand admittance. They march through his rooms, peep under his bed and into his closets, and not unfre- quently surprise him and his family in very equi- vocal situations ; after which, they express a hope that they have not disturbed them, to which they receive a lying answer in the affirmative — beg leave to trouble them " for a glass of cold water" — say they don't think the house will answer — and go about their business ; and the only satisfac- tion the poor people have, is to go unto their neigh- bor and do likewise. But this is not all. There is a nest of old maids in the city, who, having given up all hopes of ever being obliged to look after a house on their own account, kindly volunteer to do so for their friends, in order to indulge their pen- chant for inspecting their neighbor's affairs, and discuss the interesting tittle-tattle arising therefrom. Under various pretexts they pop their noses into every hole and corner of pantries, parlors, kitchens, and cupboards, and spy into the barrenness of the house ; and all this is noted down in a sort of diary, ]32 LOVE OF CHANGE, to be used afterwards at visits and card parties, as occasion may require. I am slightly in the good graces of the niece of one of these ancient women, who favored me with a peep at her aunt's land log- bo<)k, from which I made the following extracts. For obvious reasons, the names of the people and numbers of the houses are omitted. February 5. — No. — Greenwich-street. Called at the house of Mrs. D . Rooms sm^ll — no garrets — wonder where the goodness all the children sleep. Carpets very shabby — remains of a turkey carefully put by in the pantry, and black woman making her dinner off cold mutton. Eldest Miss D. has a new silk pelisse — wonder where the money came from. Mem. The D.'s may be honest enough, but can't imagine how some people make a Uving ! Same day. — ^^No. — Broadway — looked in upon my dear friend Mrs. W — the house to let, going to take a larger one. Cut a great dash — hope it may last Mr. AV. is, to be sure, cashier of the — bank, but his salary cannot be much. Some how or other, people in banks never want money. Mem. If Mr. W. should be back in his accounts and com- mit suicide, which is not unlikely, what would be- come of poor dear Mrs. W. ? HOUSE HUNTING. 133 February 17. — No. — Hudson-square. Fine looking house — great deal larger than what 1 want- • ed, but went in to see it. Mrs. M. not at home ; was shown through the house by Miss M. a poor white-faced creature, with her hair out of curl, who looked as if she had just got up. Recollected meet- ing a prettyish sort of girl by that name at Mrs. K.'s party last night. Found out it was the same — should never have known her ! Not quite so mucli color as she had when dancing last night — sup- pose she can get more when she wants it. (rood gracious ! how the poor men are deceived ! t!^ame day. — Went through the sausage manu- facturer's premises in the Bowery. Mem, Eat no more sausages, &c. &/C. It would be tedious to give more of these precious records ; suffice it to say, that there was scarcely a , house from the East river to the North, or from the Battery to the regions about Fourth- street, which had not been inspected by one or more of these scandalous old women, who meet at night and com- pare notes ; and not a single kind remark or charitable supposition was ventured upon by any one of them. They went altogether on Sir Peter Teazle's principle, " that it was a bad world, and the fewer that speak well of it the better." VOL. I. 12 134 LOVE OF CHANGE, But this is by no means the only evil to which the citizens subject themselves by this love of change. They are innumerable ; and, perhaps, one of the heaviest is the injury done to the periodi- cal literature of the country. A man will subscribe for a paper or a magazine, with which he professes to be agreeably entertained and well satisfied; but if any new^^dventurer spring up, ancl promise impossibilities in a flaming prospectus, he straight- way relinquishes that which he knows to be good, for the chance of getting something better ; and this, in its turn, is thrown aside for fresh experi- ments! In no country are there so many and such abortive attempts to get up fresh publications, and this, in a great degree, accounts for it. Of the ma- jority it cannot be said, that " 'Tis pity they're short-lived." They do no good and much harm ; for by diverting public patronage into so many channels, all are inadequately rewarded, and hence the poor state of the public press generally, compared with other countries. In all sorts of business it is precisely the same. If a man finds that past endeavors are no security for future favors, he naturally relaxes in those endeavors, and will as soon sell a bad arti- cle as a good one, when there is an equal chance of HOUSE HUNTING. 135 his customer returning ; thus, the evils which the buyers inflict upon the sellers in the first instance, eventually return upon themselves, and no one gains by those proceedings but those who, under a better state of things, would be neglected entirely. But what avails talking ? What can be expected from the inhabitants, when the " fathers of the city" set them such examples ? The people move them- selves, but the corporation move the houses. Their committee come and squint along a street, and then say unto a man, " Sir, you must shift your house sixteen feet back !" Shade of Wouter Von T wilier ! shift a house ! What would a genuine Dutchman think of such a proceeding ; or, indeed, any Euro- pean ? A little Frenchman, fresh from Paris, who thought every thing on earth was to be seen there, lately witnessed a performance of this kind. He was met by a friend soon after, in a high state of excitation. " Oh, mon dieu !" said he, " I have see what in Paris I nevare have see — nevare ! I have see one house taking one leetle valk ! — Mon dieu !" But the evil may not stop here. In time streets and squares may be found traveling about the city, and it is not impossible that a man may be run over by a church. HYPOCHONDRIACISM. O wad some power the giftie gie us, To see oursels as ithers see us ! It wad frae monie a blunder free us, An' foolish notion ; What airs in dress an' gait wadlea'e us, An' e'en devotion ! — Bums. Hypochondriacism is a disorder produced by the disorganization of the nervous system, whereby the patient ceases to view things as they exist, and ac- quires the property of seeing others that have no existence. His faculties become changed, and he regards chimeras as reaUties, and reaUties as chi- meras. On all points excepting one, a hypochon- driac may be perfectly sane, but on that one he looks upon the rest of the world as fools, and him- self as the only person to whom heaven has given light. There are many shades of this disorder, and the ways in which it manifests itself are innumera- ble. Doctor Johnson gives a very meagre defini- tion of a hypochondriac when he says it is " one HYPOCHONDRIACISM. 137 affected with melancholy." Now, though in some instances this may be the primary cause, in nine cases out of ten it is the offspring of vanity and ig- norance, w4iich, secreting themselves in a man's brain, engender there strange and overweening no- tions of his own quahties and capabiHties ; this, in the first stage of the disorder, is termed self-conceit, but swelling beyond all imaginable or endurable bounds, it becomes at last a confirmed case of men- tal delusion, and takes the form of medical, legal^ religious, political, or literary hypochondriacism. One of the pecuharities of this disease is the manner in which those who are affected with it laugh and jeer at all who are in a similar predica- ment with themselves — the quickness with which they detect their neighbor's infirmities, and the ob- stinacy with which they shut their eyes to their own. Thus, a well-informed gentleman, who eat, drank, slept, and behaved himself like other people, could never get over the strange belief that he was a barleycorn, and at the mere sight of a barn-yard fowl he would fly into his house and lock himself in, for fear of being picked up and transferred to the crop of his enemy ; yet the same gentle- man was very much tickled with the story of another hypochondriac, who in walking imagined that he did not possess the power of turning, but 12* 138 HYPOCHONDRIACISM. must of necessity move on in a direct line, and who had cut himself severely by marching straight through a shop window w^hich unfortunately crossed his way — just as one foolish hypochon- driacal author will laugh at another's expectations of immortality; although at the same time he does not entertain a doubt of its being his own. inheritance. I knew a profound scholar, and what is more, a sensible man, but w^ho, nevertheless, insisted that he was cursed with a cast-iron nose. No arguments could convince him of the fallacy of what he considered so self-evident that it might be observed by any one \ and when a storm of thun- der and lightning occurred, he w^as to be seen run- ning about in an agony of fear, and using all sorts of precautions to prevent his metal proboscis from at- tracting the electric fluid ; after the storm he would regain his composure, and thank heaven for his remarkable deliverance. A friend, to cure him of this fancy, told him of another person who ima- gined he had a glass nose, and was afraid of going out on a windy day for fear of getting it injured^, at which he laughed immoderately, and proceeded to show very plainly that no man ever had, or could by any possibility have a glass nose. The other then began gently to insinuate doubts respecting the existence of any metallic substance on his HYPOCHONDRIACISM. I39 own face, upon which he grew mightily offend- ed, hit his nose a sharp blow, and asked him if he could not hear it was cast-iron by the sound ! This would all seem lidiculous enough to a spectator, but how many hundred thousands are there in this world who terrify themselves with evils just as ima- ginary as cast-metal noses, yet at the same time laugh heartily at the fears of those who enter- tain apprehensions for their glass ones ? but because their numbers are such as to keep each other in countenance, they escape the charge of hypochon- driacism which manifestly attaches to them. Of all classes of hypochondriacs, the health-pre- serving are perhaps the most numerous and noto- rious. These are the people for whom heaven has not been able to make any thing fit to eat. Every dish that is set upon the table is, according to their view of things, impregnated with subtle poison. One produces flatulency, another acidity — beef is indigestible, ham is bilious, tea nervous, and so on from the simplest receipt in Dr. Kitchiner's cookery to the most compHcated effort of Mons. Ude. When- ever they eat they say, " I know it is wrong ;" and look upon a person who makes a hearty, careless, miscellaneous meal, as one who is not long for this world. All their conversation turns upoiflheir in- ternal concerns ; and, in company, they favor the 140 HYPOCHONDRIACISM. unfortunate lady or gentleman who sits next then:i with anecdotes of their stomach and digestive remi- niscences for the last three weeks. They are ama- teurs in physic, and swallow all sorts of abomina- tions with infinite relish ; and then they wonder^ for all the care they take of themselves, that they are no better. Poor wretches ! the undertaker eyes them as he walks along ; the coflfin-maker takes their dimensions in his " mind's eye," and proceeds to make their mahogany resting-places on specula- tion ; the sexton chuckles at their approach, and says he hopes he " see's them well !" the resurrec- tionist marks them for his own ; and the surgeon, surveying their formation with a scientific eye, longs to settle some disputed points of anatomy by means of their unfortunate bodies. Death comes at last and pops the little life out of them that diet- ing and doctoring have left, and they are troubled with hypochondriacism no more ! Literary, as well as health-preserving hypochon- driacism, is not unfrequently occasioned by a slight touch of dyspepsia. Young gentlemen with yellow faces and weak digestions, mistake the sickly fan- cies produced by a diseased state of the humors for the coruscations of genius, and whenever they feel a little unwell, concoct what they call poetry, which is merely a number of hypochondriacal notions HYPOCHONDRIACISM. t41 strung together, in which they abuse the " unfeel- ing world," and long for " pleasant death," and the " quiet peaceful grave," at the same time that they are taking their spring physic, and using all neces- sary precautions to avoid one and keep out of the other as long as possible. They poetize somewhat after this fashion : My burning brow — my burning brow ! — My bursting heart — my mad'ning brain! Would — would — that ye were quiet now, And I at rest from all my pain ! The grave — the grave ! — how calm they sleep Who lie where yonder yew-trees wave ! They neither sob, nor cry, nor weep — Oh give me that — the grave ! the grave I and such like abominable nonsense, which many people call " very pretty," and " very pathetic," and so they come all at once to believe themselves poets, and go on wishing themselves dead, until people of common sense would have no objection if they were taken at their word. One of the most ab- surd peculiarities of this tribe is, their invariably assuming that physical imbecility and mental strength go together, and vice versa, as if a sound constitution, a cheerful temper, and a vigorous and imaginative mind were incompatible. William Shakspeare, Walter Scott, and Robert Burns were, in their several ways, the three greatest men that 142 HYPOCHONDRIACISM. ever lived, and at the same time three as healthy, hearty, and merry fellows, as the world has seen, and never wrote a line of regular churchyard poe- try in their lives. Pohtical hypochondriacs are as thick as flies at midsummer, and are more headstrong, absurd, and obstinate, than any of the other classes. No matter how monstrous their dogmas are, the pertinacity with which they cling to them leaves the man with the cast-iron nose far behind. A member of the English parliament got it into his head, and all the other members could not get it out, that the great cause of distress among the poor was the plentiful- ness of the grain harvests, that starvation was a necessary consequence of over-production, and the more Avheat there was grown the less there would be eaten. In this country certain people advocate a tariff that will increase commerce and support the navy, by doing away with the necessity for ships and sailors ; while others believe in a dissolution of society, in consequence of a few men, calling them- selves masons, getting together in a snug room, for the purpose of singing and drinking without fear of interruption. Indeed, there is no notion too impro- bable to find its way into the head of a political hypochondriac. Many well-meaning individuals firmly believed as soon as General Jackson became HYPOCHONDRIACISM. 143 president, that men would hang on trees as thick as acorns, that he would fire the city of Washing- ton, destroy the constitution of the United States, put the country under martial law, keep his hand in practice by shooting a dozen citizens or so of a morning before breakfast, and do a number of other improper things for reasons best known to himself; and when they are told that no such thing has hap- pened, they very wisely shake their heads, and say the ides of March are not yet over. There is another set of poHtical hypochondriacs who credit whatever the newspapers tell them, and of course are worse than all the rest put together. Then there are the religious hypochondriacs, who firmly believe that no one can be in the right except themselves — Some think on Calvin heaven's own spirit fell, While others deem him instrument of hell. But this is ticklish ground. In theatricals the cases of hypochondriacism are innumerable, and generally incurable. I have seen matrons of forty-five years of age and one hundred and fifty pounds weight, who really thought they looked and played the girlish Juliet to perfection, and whom no criti- cism could convince to the contrary ; and I have seen a little fat fellow of five feet and an inch, who 144 HYPOCHONDRIACISM. looked upon himself as the beau ideal of Roman grandem- and dignity. I have seen Miss fancy she could play a fashionable lady, and Mr. imagine that he looked like a gentleman. I have seen— but cases multiply too fast. The greatest hypochondriac of modern times, however, is undoubtedly Robert Owen. This very singular individual has taken it into his head, that by means of certain strange doctrines which have the immediate effect of crazing the intellects of those who dabble in them, the. world is to be rege- nerated, and the perfectability of human nature ac- comphshed. He actually believes the time is coming when men will not lie, nor women flirt — when banks will not break nor bills be protested — when tailors will keep their words and gentlemen pay their debts — when brokers will be generous and politicians independent— when a man will love his neighbor as himself, and lend him money without interest or security — when Cobbett will be consis- tent and Lady Morgan unaffected, and other things equally strange and improbable. This is the great- est case of hypochondriacism on record, either moral or medical, and any man who will believe these things, will believe that the world is 'growing honester. IDLE PEOPLE. Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me, And tune his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither ! Here shall he see No enemy, But winter and rough weather. — Shaks. There is no class of human beings visited with more matter-of-course vituperation than idle peo- ple. Idleness ! it is the greatest vice of civiliza- tion, for it is the least profitable. Men may lie. and cheat, and game, and drink, and break the ten commandments in whatsoever way they please, and they will find apologists ; but for idleness, no one lifteth up his voice to speak. From the busy haunts of men, from the toil and turmoil of the marts of trafl&c, from the din and smoke of manu- factories, from the high courts of Mammon, it is for ever banished : only on the pleasant hill side, in the waving meadow, and under the ancient forest VOL. T. 13 146 IDLE PEOPLE. trees, or by the babbling brook and lazy river hath it sought out an undisturbed retreat; and there its devotee is to be found, stretched luxuriously along the green sward, worshipping his divinity after his own calm and easy fashion. Foolish fellow ! up and away unto the crowded city, for there money, " the white man's god," is to be made— spend thy days in bargaining and wrangling and over-reach- ing, and thy nights in scheming and calculating until thou art worth a milhon ! but rest not, relax not, toil and bargain and wrangle on, and thou may est yet be worth a miUion and a half! and then if death some morning put a stop unto thy profita- ble speculations, think, for all thy care and anxiety — thy joyless days and sleepless nights — what a glorious consolation is thine ! The poor idler goes to his grave not worth a groat, while thou descend- est to thine everlasting rest with more money in- vested in the funds than any man on 'change! " Idleness," saith the proverb, " is the mother of mischief." How strain ge that such a noisy brawl- ing urchin should spring from so inoffensive a pa- rent ! For my own part, I have a respect for idle people ; and, when no one suffers by their idleness, they are the most sensible people on the face of the earth — your only true philosophers. Love of ease is natural to man, and industry came into the world IDLE PEOPLE. 147 with original sin. Hard work occasioned the first murder. If Cain, instead of tilling the stubborn earth and earning his bread •' by the sweat of his brow,*' had had nothing to do but lounge on the mountain-side like his brother Abel, play his pipe, watch his sheep feeding, and then feed himself, he would never have envied him, and the second great transgression would not have come to pass. That idleness is the natural state of man, cannot be doubted. Like the flowers of the field it spring- eth up without care or culture ; but industry is a hot-house plant, of forced and artificial growth, and is apt to wither away, if not anxiously tended and cherished. In asserting these undeniable truths, let it not be supposed that any reproach is meant to be cast on the industrious. No — the man who sacrifices his love of ease, and labors unremittingly that his wife may be at rest, and his little ones comfortably clothed and fed — that he may be free from duns and debts, and walk through the world fearing. and beholden to no living creature — such a man is worthy of all admiration. But there are others, who have enough and to spare, but still go on — the slaves of avarice and habit ; who dig- nify their love of gain with the name of industry, and plume themselves mightily on " never being a single minute idle ;" why what are they at best but 148 IDLE PEOPLE. miserable earth-worms — voluntary bondmen ; the worldly wise, and yet the most egregious fools ! One thing that has undeservedly brought idle- ness into bad repute, is the confounding it with laziness, than which no two things can be more different. The lazy sluggard who hates motion in every shape, and lies upon the earth an inert piece of animation, is scarcely upon a par with the beasts that perish. A fine specimen of this tribe was a fat old gentleman of this city, a prodigious eater, who, in the summer time, used to sit, by the day together, smoking and steaming like a caldron. The only exercise he was ever known to take con- sisted in calling out, after he had sat on one seat long enough to make it uncomfoiLably warm, " John, bring me a cool chair !" and then moving from one chair to the other. Now idle people are the very reverse of this. In all sorts of games and sports they are first and foremost. It is they who can pitch a quoit or bowl a cricket-ball straighter and truer than any one else ; the swiftest runners and most active wrestlers of the district. It is they who have roamed the country far and wide, and know where the finest fishing streams are to be found, and where the birds are most plentiful — the healthiest, hardiest, and most venturesome of hea- ven's creatures ; who will scramble up a precipice^ IDLE PEOPLE. 149 and risk their necks for a bird's nest, but droop and pine away under a regular routine of money-mak- ing tasks. There are, however, different varieties of this species, like every other. Some of a more contemplative turn, who seek out the pleasant nooks and shady places, known but to themselves, and there muse aw^ay their hours. These are intimate acquaintances of nature, and are initiated into thou- sands of her little secrets that others know not of ; and with Shakspeare in their hand, they read un- folded mysteries of mind and matter, that seem, and are, not the records of observation, but the out- pourings of inspiration. Such an one w^as Jaques, though rather too cynical ; and, at times, even such an one must Shakspeare have been. It appears im- possible that the scenes in the forest of Arden could have been engendered any where except " under the shade of melancholy boughs." So thoroughly are they imbued with a true pastoral spirit, so free from the noise and smoke of cities, that it is really strange, after reading " As you like it," with your mind filled Avith images of lonely forest walks, and their denizens the duke of Amiens and his " co- mates and brothers in exile," to w^alk to the win- dow and see so many streets, houses, carriages, and fantastically dressed men and women. How pitia- ble would he be who could afford to dream away 13* 150 IDLE PEOPLE. hours amid such scenes, and yet who should for- sake them " For so much dross as may be grasped thus !" Yet idle people are looked upon as the very worst and " most good-for-nothing" people in existence. They are under the ban of society. The worldly father points them out to his son as a warning, and the prudent mother watches that her marriageable daughter's eye rests not on them ; their names are stricken from invitation lists ; and every griping^ scoundrel twitteth them and vaunteth his superior pack-horse qualifications. And for what? — why, their comparative poverty and practical philosophy. Yet they are in one sense the wealthiest of men, " Poor and content, is rich, and rich enough ; But riches, fineless, is as poor as winter To him that ever fears he shall be poor." In towns a person of this temperament is altoge- ther out of his element. He is a connoisseur in sweet, wholesome air, and sighs to rove about in search of it. As long as the grizzly tyrant winter keeps the fair spring in chains, it matters little where he is ; but when one of those glorious days that herald her approach breaks forth, and nature becomes, on the instant, all life and animation, there are few men, let them be as industrious as IDLE PEOPLE. 151 they may, who have not experienced his feehngs. Who, on such a day, has not felt a pleasing languor steal over him, and a distaste for ordinary pursuits and avocations ? Who does not long to leave the hubbub of the city far behind, to stroll forth into the fields, and have the taint of the smoke blown off by the fresh April winds ? and who would not do so if " Necessity, the master still of will, How strong soe'er it is," did not drag him back to his toils ? Oh ! what a clog it is on a man's spirit to feel that he is a slave — (for what are they but slaves with the privilege of change, whose daily labor buys their daily bread?) — to long for liberty, yet feel that the pure air, the green fields, the blue sky, the very commonest gifts of nature, that are enjoyed by the brutes of the earth and the birds of the air, are denied to him ? True, he may break through all restraints and go about inhaling as much fresh air as he pleases ; but when the cravings of appetite hint to him that it is dinner time, whence are to come the victuals that constitute that important item in the sum total of human happiness ? Man is unfortunately a car- nivorous animal, and must, once a day at least, be fed with flesh, fowl, or fish : he cannot make an 152 IDLE PEOPLE. unsophisticated repast off the roots and fruits of the earth, for though " his anatomical construction Bears vegetables in a gi'umbling sort of way Yet certainly he thinks, beyond all question, Beef, veal, and mutton easier of digestion." Then why are idle people, who can afford to be so without wrong to any one, so hardly dealt with, when all men, deserving the name, would be idle if they could ? Who ever knew a creature that made use of the too-common expression, " I am never easy unless I am doing something," that was worth passing an hour with, or that showed the slightest symptoms of having a soul ? He cannot be easy without doing something, merely because he :jannot hold communion with himself; he has no treasures of thought to which he can revert, and his mind preys upon itself unless exercised in the miserable distinctions and petty gains and tri- umphs of business, which is at best but a necessary evil. With a few exceptions, I much admire the state of things that the old courtier in the Tempest proposes to introduce into the enchanted island if he were king of it — "No kind of traffic Would I admit ; no name of magistrate ; Letters should not be known ; no use of service, IDLE PEOPLE. 153 Of riches, or of poverty ; no contracts, Successions ; bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none : No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil ; No occupation ; all men idle, all ; And women too ; but innocent and pure. All things in common nature should produce Without sweat or endeavor ; treason, felony. Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine, Would I not have ; but nature should bring forth Of its own kind, all foison, all abundance. To feed my innocent people." PRIZE TRAGEDIES. In days of yore Melpomene was a proud and haughty dame, who had to be long and ardently wooed before she would vouchsafe her company to any one ; she was like one of those fair, unreason- able damsels in the age of chivalry, for whose sake a man had to endure much abstinence, penance, and mortification before he was rewarded with the slightest degree of familiarity ; but now sh§ is trans- formed into a mere modern miss, who will flirt and keep company with all who take the trouble of ask- ing her. And then both she and her votaries have become mercenary. In former times it was " the divinity which stirred within them" that prompted tragic poets to the creation of those mighty works that have spread a halo around their names ; now it is a mere matter of dollars and cents : ours serve for hire, and undertake to manufacture tragedies on any given subject that may be dictated to them. On one point, however, they have decidedly the PRIZE TRAGEDIES. I55 advantage ; if the ancients were superior to the moderns in strength, they are far inferior in pro- ductiveness ; and an author now Utters more Ute- rary offspring in a year, than three or four could formerly bring forth in ten ; but what is produced with so little trouble and in such abundance, is sickly and short-lived ; whilst the rare, but healthy, hardy offspring of the intellects of other years still continue to bloom and " flourish in immortal youth.'' The great point of inferiority of the ancients to us was their ignorance of machinery, the disco- veries in which we have applied admirably both to physics and literature. Our forefathers were in bodily strength immensely superior to the present slim gen^ation ; yet by the aid of engines we can do more in an hour than they could in a year. So it is with the drama. They were giants in intel- lect, and a tragedy was with them a tremendous mental struggle and victory ; with us it is a mere mechanical affair. The matter is a trifle, the man- ner all in all. We take an interesting anecdote, put it into turgid blank verse, inflate it with bom- bast and epithets, divide and subdivide it into acts and scenes, and, by the aid of machinery, scenery, dresses and decorations, make it go off with more noise and eclat than can be produced by the most 156 PRIZE TRAGEDIES. striking and wonderful delineations of human pas- sion. The curious anatomy of the heart of man is not half so imposing as the intricacies of a " grand tramp march ;" and a prolonged mock combat and pantomimic style of giving up the ghost are superior to the very finest poetry. This is not idle com- plaining. It is so, and will always be so, as long as show is preferred to sense ; and such things have probably been much in vogue ever since Thespis played upon a cart, though it was reserved for the present age to be exclusively devoted to them. The " good old times" is now generally allowed to be a misnomer, and it is foolish to affect to lament over them. The world has greatly improved since then ; but certainly in most things connected with the drama we have retrograded lamentably. Mo- dern comedies are poor enough ; but from two- thirds of modern tragedies, there is no affectation in saying " heaven deliver us 1"* The literature of these United States has been made the subject of taunt and ridicule ; and it is to be wondered that such has so long been the case when the means of remedying the defect were so easy. It appears that at any time authors can be * This is meant to apply generally, and not to prize tragedies in par- ticular, much less to any single production. PRIZE TRAGEDIES. \^ forced into existence as easily as mushrooms ; and it is really curious to observe, as soon as a five hun- dred dollar premium is offered, what a flood of inspiration deluges the whole land ! The mere reading of the advertisements created hundreds of tragic poets who never before dreamt of such a thing ; and a speculator in quills realized a very handsome profit by buying up all the stock within his reach on the first announcement of the busi- ness. The ploughman quitted his plough and wrote a tragedy, the drygood-clerks neglected their customers and wrote tragedies, the frequenters of ten-pin alleys, and similar elegant places of resort, stayed at home o' nights and wrote tragedies ; and it is understood that some of them were the most unique things of their kind that were ever submit- ted to the eye of man. To say nothing of the grammar or the chirography, the violations of the simple rules of Webster's spelHng book w^ere griev- ous in the extreme ; and towards the latter end of the fifth act " Murders were done too terrible for the ear." In some instances the carnage was immense. — Two or three of the much-enduring committee have scarcely recovered from the shock which their intel- lects received, and yet retain a perfectly excusable VOL. I. 14 158 PRIZE TRAGEDIES, and natural antipathy for the very name of tragedy. Considering the manner in which they had to addle their brains by perusing all this perilous stuff, there ought certainly to have been a benefit for the remu- neration of the sufferers — that is, the committee. This was the prevailing character of the pieces^ the authors of whom had taken for their guide Othello's exclamation, " blood, blood, lago !" and cut short the mortal career of their dramatis per- sonae with the most unrelenting pens. Others there were of a more lady-like and lachrymatory turn, who dealt in " Taffeta phrases, silken terms precise, Three-piled hyperbole, spruce affectation," and preferred tears to blood ; but they also, in self- defence, were obliged to make away with a great number, as the depth of a tragedy now-a-days de- pends upon the mortality that takes place among the persons brought together ; consequently there is twice as strong an infusion of the tragic in a play where ten people are killed, as there is where only five expire. Soldiers, citizens, peasants, and such plebeian parts as are enacted by supernumera- ries whose names are not in the bills, are, howe- ver, not taken into account ; just as in real life, a great outcry is made about a dead general, while PRIZE TRAGEDIES. 159 the rank and file rot quietly away without any thing being said about the matter. But Mr. Forrest, Mr. Forrest, what excuse can be made for thee ? Thou who didst profess to admire the Indian character, and venerate their great and noble qualities. Was it well done in thee to single out this persecuted race of beings from the na- tions and communities of men on the face of the earth, as fit subjects to be hacked and tortured by all the poverty-stricken and unfledged poets in the country ? •' Call you this backing your friends ?" Is it not enough that they have been ruthlessly driven from house and home, that their lands have been forcibly wrested from them, and the graves of their fathers violated, but you must, by holding out a five hundred dollar inducement, hound on all sorts of people to dramatize the lives of their war- riors, and put into the mouths of their sachems and orators, bad grammar and bombast, which when living they would have blushed to utter? Think, Mr. Forrest, of the number of noble chiefs that have been resuscitated through your means, and trans- formed into senseless ranting braggadocios. They may not, to be sure, appear in public ; but will not their several vainglorious authors distribute the manuscripts of their unsuccessful efforts among their friends and connexions all over the country, 160 PRIZE TRAGEDIES, merely to show the incapacity of the committee, thus rendering the Indian character ridiculous, and adding, as it were, insult to injury ? If you want more prize tragedies, make the affair general, give the money to the best, but play all that are sent, and let us have a laugh at the whole world. Make no more invidious selections, but let tliere be clas- sic victims, Grecians and Romans, of whom anti- quity furnishes an inexhaustible supply. Besides, it would be a very difficult matter to make another aboriginal tragedy. Indianisms, such as " smok- ing the pipe of peace," and keeping the " chain of friendship bright," sound very well when judiciously and sparingly introduced ; but it does not answer to compound many long speeches entirely of such figurative fragments. OYSTERS. Man has been styled a speaking animal, a laugh- ing animal, a bargaining animal, and a drunken animal, in contradistinction to all other animals who neither speak, nor laugh, nor bargain, nor get drunk ; but a cooking animal seems after all to be his most characteristic and distinguishing appella- tion. In the important art of cooking victuals he shines pre-eminent ; here he taxes all his facul- ties, racks his invention, and gives unbounded range to his imagination. Nature has given to every other animal a peculiar taste, and furnished three or four kinds of food to suit that taste, but this sense in man accommodates itself to an innu- merable quantity of materials. He has made co- pious selections from all things that dwell upon the face of the globe — from the birds of the air, from the fish of the sea, from the inhabitants of lake and river, yea, from the bowels of the earth has he ex- tracted substances to minister to his palate, and the 14* ^g2 OYSTERS. whole mineral and vegetable world has been ran- sacked with indefatigable industry for its gratifica- tion. Thousands of his species pass their lives in dreary mines to send forth the simple but indispen- sable salt with which he seasons his viands ; while others fit out frail vessels, and amid storm and tem- pest, traverse the wilderness of waters for certain spices that add piquancy to a favorite dish ! But after he has collected all the products of the world together, that is only the commencement — the pre- liminary mustering of his forces. What are all these materials collectively to the innumerable, the inconceivable quantity of dishes which he manufac- tures from them by skilful combinations or incongru- ous mixtures ? Twelve figures can be set down in thousands of different ways and no two alike ; then out of those millions of primitive substaifbes, what countless quintillions of dishes can he not com- pound ! whilst every day new secrets are brought to light and added to the limitless list of gastrono- mic discoveries. The ancients knew something as regarded these matters ; but still they seemed to have studied expense and vanity more than real gratification. There are few that have not heard of the extrava- gances of an Heliogabalus, his brains of flamingos, his tongues of nightingales, and his heads of OYSTERS. 153 ostriches, six hundred of which were served up in a single dish, and for which single dish the deserts of Arabia must have been scoured and desolated — but there is no ingenuity in this, nothing remark- able, save its monstrous folly. At a later period the art took a more complex form. In 1577 the abstemious cardinal, Ascanius Colonna, gave an entertainment to the prince of Nassau, when the following unique ollajpodrida was produced, which was looked upon as one of the greatest achieve- ments of the times, and was so admired and lauded by all who partook of it, that a certain holy father present at the feast, composed a Latin ode upon it, and handed the receipt down to an ungrateful pos- terity, who refuse to avail themselves of this chef 6!(Biivre in the annals of cookery. The ingre- dients were " ten pounds of beef, three pounds of a pig, six wood pigeons, one pound of truffles, six thrushes, one capon, three pounds of turnips, six handsfull of green fennel seed, two pounds of sau- sages composed of curious materials, one pound of pepper, six onions, twelve larks, three lobsters, seven lampreys, four choice cardoons, (a vegetable resembling celery) two heads of Bologna cabbage, three pounds of tallow, spices, salt, sugar, and othel' seasonings." How stomachs were constructed in those days it is not stated. 1154 OYSTERS. The United States possess an advantage over all the nations of the earth in two things highly con- ducive to human happiness — oysters and peaches. Men may disagree about forms of government, or the fine arts, or the relative merits of poets, paint- ers, and actors ; and whether they are right or wrong, may be perfectly sincere and well-meaning in their opinions ; but whoever denies the complete supremacy of the oysters and peaches of this part of the w^orlcl, must be given over as incurably infected with prejudice and perverseness. The peaches of England are nothing, and the oysters, generally speaking, no more to be compared to these, than a crab-apple to a pippin ; though there ought to be an especial reservation made in favor of what is called the " Colchester native," the flavor of which must dwell in the grateful remembrance of all who have had the good fortune to taste them ; they are uncommonly sweet, but small — a very choice oyster for ladies : but when taken into a tolerably capacious mouth, do not touch the palate at every point — there is still something wanting, and you do not experience that unalloyed gratifica- tion, that fulness of delight which is the necessary consequence of swallowing a large, fresh, fat, York- bay oyster. So extremely grateful are the latter to all who truly appreciate their estimable qualities, OYSTERS. j[g5 that every additional one only creates a keener desire for its successor. " As if increase of appetite had grown By what it fed on," until the stomach signifies its incapacity to receive a farther supply of the luscious and delectable food. Man is naturally a self-opiniated contrary animal, and feels a natural inchnation to disagree with his species on all earthly questions ; but still he divides into parties and subdivides into factions, and it is possible to find half a dozen people who have the same views in politics, rehgion, and literature ; but perhaps no two were ever formed since the creation with exactly the same tenets respecting the stomach. They may hold on together for some time, and confess that they both like boiled salmon or roast ducks ; but let them speak upon the subject of eat- ing for a quarter of an hour, and a hundred minute but important difTerences of taste discover them- selves. Indeed, two men alike in this respect would be a much greater rarity than the two Dromios. There are few points on which there is a more una- nimous opinion entertained than oysters. All agree as to their virtues in the first instance ; but whe- ther they are best raw, or stewed, or fried, or broil- ed, or pickled, is the subject of endless cavillings, and interminable harangues. The longest dispute Xeg OYSTERS. I ever listened to was Avhether it was best to devour these creatures with black pepper or red ; and such was the earnestness of the disputants that the man employed in opening them, making a mistake, kept helping the red pepper advocate with black and the black pepper zealot with red ; and to the infinite amusement of the lookers on, neither found out the difference until they were told, when both instantly declared they thought the oysters had a very pecu- liar taste ! just as newspapers or politicians will now-a-days commence a fiery dispute concerning democratic and federal parties, or the powers of the general and state governments, until they uncon- sciously change sides in the course of the argument, without being anything the wiser ; and just so tri- vial and undistinguishable are half the disputes into which we poor brainless bipeds plunge with such uncontrollable fury, to the infinite amusement of all calm and dispassionate spectators. But it will not do to goon grounding general reflections on an oyster. It was made for better things than to be a theme from which to extract a questionable moral. I would if I could be eloquent in thy praise, thou best and gravest* of fish— thou most nutritious and di- * Wherein consists the superior gravity of an oyster is not very appa- rent ; yet it has long had that reputation as is evident from the ancient and well known couplet : " The gravest bea»t is an ass, the gravest bird an owl, The gravest fish an oyster, the gravest man a fool" OYSTERS. 167 geslible of moluscous substances^— thou stanchest friend and steadiest supporter of Afric's trampled sons, for whom thou daily effectest more than Wil- berforce can ever hope to compass — much do I re- gret that the insatiable appetites of the citizens are robbing their bay of its greatest boast ; like the boy who killed the goose for the golden eggs, they are not content with the yearly produce of thy fruitful beds, but they leave them oysterless, seize on both interest and principal, and expect a miracle to pro- vide for the future. It is easy to foresee the ruin- ous consequences of such atrocious conduct — but it is not in common prose that thy merits and suffer- ings should be commemorated. I will take my liarp and sweep its softest strings. LINES ON A NEWLY-OPENED YORK-BANKEK. With feelings strange and undefined I gaze upon thy face, Thou choice and juicy specimen of an ill-fated race; How calnily, yea, how meekly thou reclinest in thy shell, Yet what thy woes and sufferings are man may conjecture well ! For thou hast life as well as he who recklessly seeks thine, And, couldst thou speak, might draw forth tears as briny as thy brine ; For thou was torn from friends and home and all thy heart could wish, Thou hapless, helpless, innocent, mute, persecuted fish. Perhaps thou w ast but newly joined to some soft plump young bride, Who op'd her mouth for food with thee when flowed the flowing tide ;* * Oysters taken from the river and kept in fresh water, open their mouths at the time of the flowing in of the tide, in expectation of their accustomed food.— Kitchiner. 158 OYSTERS. Perhaps thou hast a family, from whom thou hast been torn, Who sadly wail for him, alas, who never will return ! Thou wast happy oii thy native bed, where blithesome billows play, Till the cruel fisher wrench'd thee from thy ' home, sweet home,'away ; He stow'd thee in his coble and he rovred thee to the strand— Thou wast bought and sold and opened, and placed in this right hand ! I know that while I mora|lize thy flavor fades away, I know thou shouldst be ate alive,* before thy sweets decay ! I know that it is foolishness, this weak delay of mine. And epicures may laugh at it as sentimental whine. Well, let them laugh,! still will drop a tear o'er thy sad fate. Thou wretched and ill-fated one ! thou sad and desolate ! O'er thee and o'er thy kindred hangs one all-consuming doom, To die a slow and lingering death, or, living, find a tomb ! Like the Indian from the forest — like the roebuck frbm the glen. Thy race is dwindling silently before the arts of men ; Ye are passing from the river, from the sea-bank, and the shore, And the haunts that long have known ye, shall know ye soon no more ! The Blue-point and the Shrewsbury f are vanishing away, And clamless soon will be our streams, and oysterless our bay ; Rapacious man, before your prime, ordains that ye shall die, And drags ye from your cool retreats to boil and stew and fry ! Why were ye made so racy, rich, and luscious to the taste ? 'Tis that has stripped your thickest banks, and made your beds a waste ; " Your virtues have proved sanctified and holy traitors to ye," And that which was your proudest boast has served but to undo ye ! E'en I, the friend of all thy kind, when I think of what thou art, When I ponder o'er the melting joys thy swallowing will impart, Can delay thy fate no longer ; one look, it is my last ! A gulp^ — one more — a silent pause — a sigh — and all is past ! * Those who wish to enjoy this delicious restorative in the utmost perfection must eat it the moment it is opened, with its own gravy in the under shell ; if not eaten while absolutely alive, its flavor and spirit are lost. — Kitchiner. t Two famous species, found adjacent to New-York, now nearly extinct. :.^f' PASSAGES IN THE LIFE OF AN UNFORTUNATE. " Ah me ! for aught that ever I could read, Could ever hear by tale or history, The course of true love never did run smooth." Thomas Augustus Phelps was a junior clerk in a small retail store, in an unfrequented part of Maiden-lane. His salary was insignificant, and his expenses were considerable ; and, there being no vi- sible channel through which extraneous funds could come into his possession, how he contrived, as the saying is, " to make both ends meet,'' was a pro- blem which his most intimate friends were utterly unable to solve, and which was, moreover, a sub- ject upon which, for some reason or other, he al- ways declined to throw any light. He was gene- rally characterized as a genteel and rather well- informed young man — that is, his dress was unex- ceptionable; his address easy, forward, and flippant ; and he discoursed with uncommon fluency on a number of subjects which he knew nothing about. VOL. I. 15 170 PASSAGES IN THE LIFE After he had gone through* the business of the day, he improved his mind, of an evening, by playing biUiards, and his morals by lounging about the sa- loons and lobbies of the theatre, from which places he criticized the performances in a very decided manner. This he was the better enabled to do^ from being hand and glove with many of the minor actorsj by whom he was let into the secret that the principal favorites of the town were persons desti- tute of ability, but that the capabilities of the minors were uncommon, though lost to the public by a monstrous system of managerial mismanage- ment, which bore heavily upon the whole massy and with intense severity upon the peculiar talents of the several informants. But his greatest qualifi- cation was his inexhaustible fund of what is termed " small talk !" This he poured forth on all occa- sions, in " one weak, washy, everlasting flood," in a way that gained him the ardent admiration of numerous young ladies, and at last made an inde^ lible impression upon the susceptible heart of Miss Julia Carmine, only surviving child of an artifi- cial-flower manufacturer in Division-street. Julia was a beauteous being, in the spring of life. Her features were strictly and chastely classical, except- ing her nose, mouth, chin, and forehead ; her eyes were exceedingly blue, her color rich and roseate. OF AN UNFORTUNATE. 171 and her auburn tresses flowed in luxuriant ringletsj down her lovely neck, which was somewhat short. Nature had done every thing for her, setting aside that she wore artificial curls, and had purchased the majority of her teeth ; and though her complexion of a morning was rather sallow, yet when dressed out, and seen by candle or gas-hght. she was in reality a ^v'ery pretty looking young woman. She had faults, to be sure — who has not? But the greatest of them were, that she talked occasionally a sort of mongrel French, played on the guitar, and kept an album. What a sacred thing is first love ! and its accom- panying train of inexplicable and indescribable feelings ! and how hallowed in the imagination be- comes every spot connected with this purest of pas- sions ; particularly the spot where a mutual reci- procation of sentiment first took place ! It is that of whicli I am about to speak. Julia and Thomas Augustus sat alone one evening in a small arbor, or rather wooden box, in a retired corner of the ^' Bowery tea-garden ;" " The moon hid her light From the heavens that night," and a variegated lamp, attached to the front of the box, was all that shed a melancholy radiance over 172 PASSAGES IN THE LIFE the scene. Both experienced sensations unknown till then, and they had each a glass of ice-cream before them. " How beautiful is the firmament, with all its countless myriads of twinkhng stars," observed Thomas Augustus Phelps, looking upwards. " Beautiful indeed !" sighed Julia. " And this ice-cream aint so coarse neither," said he. " No — by no means,"' responded she. " Methinks," continued Thomas, " I could sit for ever thus, with thee by my side, gazing upon the blue vault of heaven, beloved Juha !" Julia did not answer, but her silence spoke more eloquently than words ; she bowed her head, and it is presumed blushed, but, as the lamp wanted trimming, there was not hght enough distinctly to ascertain that fact. Thomas Augustus gently drew the sweet girl towards him, and oh ! extre- mity of bliss! she did not resist. The, coldness of worldly restraint was broken down — they ex- changed vow^s of everlasting fidelity, and Thomas was about to seal the covenant on her lovely lips, when the man that goes about to gather up the empty glasses, unceremoniously popped his head into the box, and observed, " that he did not allow of them there sort of proceedings in his garden T' OF AN UNFORTUNATE. 173 ^rhomas Augustus would have resented this inju- rious insinuation on the instant, only he was by no means athletic, and did not possess a particle of cou- rage. He therefore contented himself with declaim- ing for some time in a style of lofty invective, and wound up by indignantly paying the man what he owed him, tucking Julia under his arm, and walk- ing out of the shrubbery. It is necessary, however, to premise that twelve months antecedent to the tender passages on which we have been dilating, Mr. Phelps commenced bu- siness on his own account in Canal-street. His debut was made during that auspicious period de- nominated the " Canal-street fever," when, in con- sequence of the lowness of the rents in that part of the city, every body flocked thither, which caused the landlords to quadruple their original demands, by which judicious proceeding they ruined their tenants and got no rent at all. He had invariably represented his affairs to Julia as being in a most prosperous state ; but unfortunately, though he was a young man possessed of many virtues, a love of truth was not one of them. Indeed, they who knew him best, affirmed that he was a notorious liar, and there is no reason to doubt their word. As he had started altogether on credit, and as he spent all the money that came in as the goods went out, when 15* 174 PASSAGES IN THE LIFE ' his bills fell due, he told his creditors he was extremely sorry, but that he had no funds to meet their demands : they in return assured him that they were extremely sorry to hear it, seized upon the residue of his stock, and turned him out of doors. This was hard to bear, and he flew on the wings of love to find consolation in the society of his beloved Julia ; but she was not at home. The next day he called, and still the same answer. On the evening of the third day he was admitted to her presence, but " Oh frailty — thy name is wo- man !" she had heard of his misfortunes, and re- ceived him with chilling politeness. The lady was not at all mercenary ; but then she had found it convenient, as she informed him, to plight her vir- gin vows to Mr. Raphael Jackson, (familiarly termed Ralph Jackson) and they were to be mar- ried early in the ensuing week. Thomas stood mute and motionless, for, as the poet justly ob- serves, " Oh ! colder than the wind that freezes Founts, that but now in sunshine played, Is the congealing pang which seizes The trusting bosom when betrayed." What barbed the dart and made the matter worse, was that this Mr. Raphael Jackson — a young law- yer with a good deal of cunning, and more impu- OF AN UNFORTUNATE. 175 deuce, consequently likely to do well in the world — was his most particular friend. Julia aroused him from his trance by asking him if he would not " stay to tea?" this offer he indignantly spurn- ed, and immediately quitted the premises. The next morning he found on his table an invitation to the wedding. It was, of course, never suspected that he would accept it, and was purely meant as a piece of gratuitous insolence on the part of the bride. Whoever calculated, liowever, on his not coming, reckoned without their host. " Yes !" ex- claimed he mentally, as he surveyed the perfumed rose-colored note : " yes ; I will see her once more — for the last— ay, for the last time !" About seven o'clock in the evening of the twenty- second of April, 1827, a jovial wedding party were assembled at the house of Mr. Carmine, in Division- street, to celebrate the nuptials of his accomplished daughter. All was prepared for the impressive ce- remony. The bride had got through shedding the preliminary tears usual on these occasions ; the bridegroom was doing his best, as in duty bound, to- look joyous and happy ; the bridesmaids were tittering and laughing for some reason or reasons best known to themselves ; the groomsmen were endeavoring to be uncommonly facetious, and the clergyman had put on a look meant to rebuke all 1 76 PASSAGES IN THE LIFE tittering and facetiousness, when the door suddenly opened, and a figure stalked into the room. It was Mr. Thomas Augustus Phelps, but alas, how changed ! He looked not like one who had come to participate in a scene of happiness. His boots were dirty, his hat was slouched over his eyes, his coat was buttoned up to his chin, his cravat was far from clean, and his hands were stuck into his trowsers' pockets. The company recoiled, the bride uttered a faint exclamation, and the bridegroom stepped forward and demanded in a bullying tone of voice, " the meaning of this extraordinary intru- sion ?" Phelps spoke not a word, but drew from his right-hand coat pocket the perfumed rose-colored invitation note, and presented it to the bridegroom. He then drew from his left-hand coat pocket an uncommonly large horse-pistol, upon which Mr. Raphael Jackson retreated with great precipitation. Phelps deliberately cocked the pistol, and an un- common curiosity took possession of the guests to see which one of them he intended to sacrifice. This interesting suspense was soon ended ; for slowly bringing the fatal weapon in a line with his own forehead, he proceeded to pull the irrevoca- ble trigger. A struggle ensued, and dreadful to relate, in the scuffle the pistol went off full in the face of one of the fair young bridesmaids. Fortu- OF AN UNFORTUNATE. 177 nately she sustained no injury, which led to a sus- picion that the instrument of death had been loaded with an eye to safety. Upon this the gal- lant bridegroom experienced a revivification of valor. He stepped forward, informed the unfortunate Phelps that he should hear from him in the morn- ing through the medium of Mr. Hays, and peremp- torily ordered liim to leave the room. The poor bride, who during this scene had been rather in the !mck ground, thought she now perceived a favora- ble opportunity for display, and accordingly, as the most natural expedient, commenced a fainting fit ; but there being no one sufficiently on the alert to catch her in his arms, and having, in the hurry of the moment, neglected the precaution of seeing that there was a chair in her immediate vicinity, she was obliged, when just upon the brink of insen- sibility, not only to recede considerably, but alt^o to look around her and diverge from a straight line in order to attain that necessary piece of furniture. This gave such an air of insincerity to the whole proceeding, that even her warmest admirers were compelled to admit that the attempt was a failure. Mr. Jackson once more asked Mr. Phelps whether he intended to quit the room, or whether he was waiting for him (Jackson) to put him out. Phelps scorned to reply ; a peculiar expression flitted over 178 PASSAGES IN THE LIFE his pale features, he cast an indescribable look to- wards the bride, and then did as he was desired. On the following day, about noon, a gallant Li- verpool packet was passing Sandy Hook, outward bound. On her deck stood the principal actor in the intended tragedy of the preceding evening. His disappointment in love, and some fraudulent transactions connected with his late failure, had induced him to seek relief in change of scene. The breeze was fair, and the vessel was careering " o'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea" at the rate of about nine knots an hour. Phelps stood at the stern of the ship gazing intently on the land of his forefathers, which was fast fading in the dis- tance. A slight blue hne at the verge of the hori- zon was all that remained to him of the home of his childhood — the scene of so many balls, and publics, and parties — where he had danced, and sung, and played billiards, and eaten oysters when a mere boy ; the tears started to his eyes, he leaned his head over the ship's side, and in a voice choked with agony, exclaimed — " Oh, captain, I am very sick !" The captain, in that cheerful tone of voice with which a man who has nothing the matter with him consoles another who has, replied, " Never mind, sir — you'll be better in a day or two — haul taut the fore-top-sail halhards there ! belay !'' OF AN UNFORTUNATE. 179 This to Phelps, whose face exhibited as many shades of blue, and black, and green, and yellow, as the back of a dying dolphin, was a great conso- lation. Indeed I have myself often had occasion to observe the happy effects of similar scraps of com- fort applied to sea-sick passengers. It is so plea- sant when you are suffering under this horrible affliction — when every minute seems an age, and every hour an eternity — to be told, " never mind, sir, you'll get over it in less than a week, maybe !" Time rolled on, and nothing reached the Ameri- can shores concerning the fate of Thomas Augus- tus Phelps, except a flying report that he had been undergoing a course of exercises in the Brixton tread-mill, when one Sunday morning, in the au- tumn of the year 1829, a shabby-genteel personage was seen strutting up Broadway. It was Phelps — yet why was he here ? His first love blessed ano- ther ; and the children that ought to have been called Phelps, were christened Jackson. The wooden paling of Trinity church-yard was at that period prostrate, and the cast-iron railing had not been erected, so that there was no obstacle to a free ingress to and egress from the burying-ground. Phelps wandered in among the tombs — a presenti- ment of some overhanging evil weighed heavily upon his breast, and before he had proc^ded far ISO PASSAGES IN THE LIFE he came to a plain marble slab almost overgrown with grass. A strange curiosity seized him ; he knelt down and parted the rank weeds which over- shadowed it ; a sunbeam at that moment darted precisely on the place, and he saw, carved in legi- ble German-text, the simple inscription ''Julia." He was indescribably affected ; and yet he felt a melancholy pleasure in thinking that she had too late become sensible of his merits, and pined into the grave in consequence of his absence. While indulging in this train of reflection, a troop of httle boys, attracted by the extraordinary spectacle of a man upon his kness in a church- yard, began to gather round, shouting and pelting him with earth and small pebbles. He arose to reprimand them ; but there having been a heavy showier of rain, and he having white duck trowsers on, the effect of his kneeling, upon his clothes, can, like a young heroine's feelings, be more easily imagined than described. He instantly, therefore, became an object of universal observation, and the little boys shouted and pelted more than ever. Phelps was exasperated beyond measure ; he seized one of the young miscreants, shook him well, and threatened the most dreadful corporeal chastisement if he did not desist. OF AN UNFORTUNATE. 181 " Hurrah for Jackson !''* exclaimed the young rebel, nothing daunted. " Hurrah for Jackson !-' chimed in his compa- nions in evil-doing. This pointed, though unin- tentional allusion to his rival, at once unnerved Phelps — recollections of former insults and injuries came over him. and he strode from the burial- ground, the boys hurraing all the while at his coat_ tail ; when lo ! who should be seen issuing from the church porch but Mr. Raphael Jackson himself with his own Juha, now Mrs. Jackson, hanging on his arm ! This was too much — so then it appeared she had not pined away in his absence — she had not died — and he had been kneehng by the side of some one else's Juha ! They passed him with- out speaking, he muttered dreadful imprecations to himself, and bent his way down Wall-street. He is now only the wreck of his former self, though he is more corpulent than he was wont to be, yet it is not a healthy corpulency ; and his ap- parel is the extreme of what is generally denomi- nated " seedy." Yet amid this moral and physical desolation some traces of identity are yet preserved — some glimmerings of what once was Phelps ! * A common political cry about this time with young republi- cans. VOL. I. 16 182 PASSAGES IN THE LIFE, ETC Therfe is still that peculiar strut in his walk, and he still wears his hat knowingly adjusted on one side of his head ; but he drinks like a fish, talks politics incessantly, and his shirt-frill is much be- daubed with snuff. What will be his final fate depends upon ulterior circumstances ; at present it is enveloped in the mists and darkness of futurity. SPRING. Lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth ; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land. — Song of Solomon, chap. II. Every year, all the periodicals, in every city, in every country of the earth, have something to say upon the subject of spring, and have had something to say since time was, or at least, since periodicals were born, and will continue to have something to say until time shall cease to be. It is, in all res- pects, a most prolific theme, and there is no more chance of exhausting it, than of exhausting our kind mother ^ earth of grass, leaves, and flowers, and the never-dying vegetative principle. The reason is obvious enough : last year's grass, and leaves, and flowers are dead and past away — their freshness and fragrance are forgotten, and their beauty is remembered no more ; so it is with the essays, reflections, songs, and sonnets that sprang into life in the spring of eighteen hundred and 184 SPRING. twenty-nine — they also have passed away, and their sweet thoughts and pretty sayings are like- wise remembered no more ; but as last years ve- getation fell to the earth and became incorporated with it only to be reproduced again in forms of fresh brilHancy and beauty, so do the thoughts and images of former wniters assume a new shape, and bear the impress of the present time by appearing in all magazines and newspapers, dail)^, weekly, and monthly, for the year eighteen hundred and thirty. And there is no plagiarism in all this ; it is merely, as Puff says, '• two people happening to tliink of the same idea, only one hit upon it before the other — that's all." Indeed, who would think of plagiarism on such an exhaustless subject as spring? Why a thousand thoughts and images that have lain dormant in the mind start into life at the mere mention of the word. As the fresh April breeze, laden with healthful fiagrance, blows upon you, it becomes a sort of natural impulse to vent your feelings either by pen or speecli. You look back upon the snow, and fog, and sharp un- feeling winds of winter as upon a desolate waste over which you have trodden, and fancy, as you see nature putting on her youthful gay attire, that you are entering into another and better state of existence ; forgetful that though her spring may be SPRING. 185 eternal, your own is flitting fast away, never to be renewed. But no reflections ! let them come with winter, their fitting season. Spring was made for enjoyment, or rather, anticipation of enjoyment — promises of good — pleasant visions, and gorgeous castles in the air. Experience convinces not the young. They think not of their last year's visions that have faded away, nor the aerial castles that have tumbled about their ears ; or if they do, it is only to contrast their frailty with the firm texture and sure foundation of those in the perspective. But though spring be delightful to all classes, it is so to each in a different way, and for a different reason. In the country, your true agriculturist, though he wander amid a wilderness of sweets, marks not the tiny buds that are expanding and blooming into l)eauty all around — to be sure, he hopes that no killing frost will come and spoil his prospects of cider, but that is all. These are too small concerns for his capacious head. He ponders on acres of corn and fields of buck-wheat, and plans where barley should be sown and where oats. He looks into futurity and calculates how much the yet un- engendered grain will bring ; he schemes how his barren land may be artificially fertilized in the best and cheapest manner, and it is his business, not his pleasure, to take note of the wonderful operations 16* 186 SPRING. of nature. His wife considereth the dairy, and looketh out with motherly care that her sleek and velvet-coated cows be not turned from their winter quarters into damp and swampy meadows, lest they contract colds, coughs, catarrhs, and other dis- orders incident to cattle ; while the rosy-cheeked daughter attends to the poultry, (always the daugh- ter's perquisite) and literally " reckons her chickens before they are hatched." Anxiously does she watch that the young turkeys (the most tender of domestic fowls) do not get wet feet ; for on the pro- ceeds arising from their sale depend the splendor of the gown and the quantity and quality of the rib- bon that have in summer to adorn the village church, and excite the wonder and admiration of its simple congregation. So passes spring with them and others of their class. They talk and think less of its beauties than those who merely get glimpses of them in crowded cities, and have to draw upon their imagination for the rest. In the city spring brings with it a still more mul- tifarious collection of hopeful schemes and projects. Business that has been in a state of stagnation dur- ing the winter now flows briskly through a thou- sand different channels ; and the ladies, whose bu- siness is pleasure, are busier than any one else, for the spring fashions have come; milliners are now SPRING. 187 the most obsequious of people ; tailors examine with a curious eye the coats of their customers as they meet them in the streets, and inquire most kindly and disinterestedly after their health and prospects ; merchants are scattering their ventures abroad, ships are fitting out, much beef is salted down, and many biscuits baked, but a number of hard things said about the tariff notwithstanding ; the North river is emancipated from ice, and owners of steamboats are preparing to oblige the public and ruin them- selves by vigorous competition ; the rustling of silks is heard in Broadway, criticisms upon hats, gowns, and trimmings are much in vogue amongst the fair creatures w^ho pace its fashionable side, and they look upon spring as the most chaiming sea- son of the year, " it is so delightful for morning calls." Spring is coming ! all good things are coming ! and some good things are going — oysters are going — there will soon be no r in the month, and then they are gone ; but shad are coming ; strawberries and pretty country girls are coming, so is fresh butter ; the men of Rochester and Buffalo, and other districts of the " far west" have come, and they wander up and down the streets in " wrapt amazement" at the never ceasing jingling of forte- pianos, and the twanging of guitars, harps, and 188 SPRING. other stringed instruments ; the sons of the South have come, and Virginians, Carolinians, and Geor- gians are to be seen sauntering along, and gazing with horror at the shocking quantity of freedom enjoyed by the poor black wretches whom they chance to meet, and though they see it every sum- mer, they are never able to get over the astonish- ment created by beholding a dark dandy or an African coquette — as if white people possessed the exclusive right to make fools of themselves. "Ah !" think they, as a colored gentleman unceremoniously takes the wall of them — " Ah ! if I only had you in Savannah I" But spring has still its sad feehngs, and after le- vity comes heaviness of heart. It is a joyous sea- son to those who, like the year, are in their spring- time, just bursting into untried life ; but to such as have seen that time pass away for ever, whose spi- rits are depressed by difficulties, or broken by una- vailing struggles, it is a season rather of melancholy retrospection than present enjoyment. The aged or unfortunate are insensible to its influence ; they recall their spring, and mournfully contrast the happy past with the dreary present; truly is it said, " Joy's recollection is no longer joy- While sorrow's memory is sorrow still ;" SPRING. 189 and deeply do they feel its truth. To those in their prime it is, at times, perhaps sadder still to look back upon the flowery fields of existence through which they have been rambling, and to contrast them with the beaten track they now tread, and the desolate prospect that lies before them. The friends of their youth have passed away, so have their brightest hopes ; they feel themselves changed, and their capacities for happiness diminished ; they see things full of joy and promise around, and are filled with a mixture of wordly scorn and unavail- ing regret for what can no more be theirs ; and sadly do they enter into the feelings of the poet — " The sky is blue, the sward is green, The leaf upon the bough is seen, The wind comes from the balmy west. The little songster builds its nest, The bee hums on from flower to flower, Till twilight's dim and pensive hour, The joyous year returns— but when Shall by -past times come back again ?" PHILADELPHIA— NEW-YORK— BOSTON, Satirists have said that all the concerns, great and small, of this bustling world, its love and war, laws, literature, and business, have self for their beginning and self for their end ; and that even charity to others is only a more refined species of self-love. Whether these suppositions be correct or not, will, like the destiny of the lost pleiad, and the powers of the general government, always re- main matters of opinion ; and far be it from me to attempt to settle, and thereby render of no effect, such interesting topics of conversation and specu- lation. In putting pen to paper, it is certainly best to avoid all new and hazardous assertions, and to content one's self with advancing, in a fearless manner, what no one can possibly doubt. I may, therefore, in the language of some writers, who dis- play a large quantity of superfluous valor and de- termination when there is no occasion for it, boldly PHILADELPHIA, ETC. 191 agsertj without fear of contradiction, that self-love is no rarity in this world of ours. It manifests itself in a variety of ways, some of which are exceed- ingly curious and amusing, and as pleasant to laugh at as a friend's misfortunes. One of its most ludicrous forms is the way in which men interest themselves in little localities, the pride they feel in them, and the additional importance which they imagine attaches to themselves, in consequence of the celebrity of the city or district to which they belong, for some small matter or other. Thus, a Philadelphian identifies himself with the breed of homed cattle in the vicinity of that city — he consi- ders their fame and his own as inseparable, and looks dowri Upon a citizen of New- York because the cows of Pennsylvania give richer milk than those of Long Island ; a Bostonian thinks he ranks considerably higher in the scale of creation on ac- count of the occult mystery of making pumpkin pies having attained a state of perfection in Boston as yet unknown in the regions of the south, north, ani west ; while a New-Yorker is apt to be dogma- tical on all things connected with canals, though perhaps he never saw one in his life, merely be- cause the longest one in the world was accomplish- ed in his native state. They say " there is but one step from the sub- 192 PHILADELPHIA, lime to the ridiculous." Now the feelings of pride and love with which a man looks upon his native country, are very proper and natural ; and though, in the eye of cold-blooded philosophy, a person is neither any thing the better nor the worse for the spot of earth which he may chance to have been born upon, yet men generally never have been, nor ever will be of that opinion. The laws and insti- tutions of a country, the fame of its literature and science, and the long train of glorious deeds that have been accumulating for ages, descend to a man as a species of national property, and there is no one but who values himself so much the more for his share in it, and looks upon himself as braver and wiser on account of the brave and wise men his native land has bred. There is something no- ble in this feeling in the aggregate ; but when it comes to be frittered away upon small matters — to be divided and subdivided into counties, towns, and villages, it is simply ridiculous. Some persons carry their local feelings to an extraordinary ex- tent : not only is their own country the greatest in the world, but their city, for some reason or other, is the best in the country ; the street in which they reside the best in the city, the house they occupy the best in the street, their room the best in the house, and themselves, by all odds, the best in the NEW-YORK, AND BOSTON. 193 room. Nay, some do not even stop here. There are people who form httle local attachments about their own persons, and fall in love with an eye, a nose, a cheek, a chin, or a finger-nail. One of the first vocalists on the British stage, is known absolutely to doat on the construction of his leg ; he thinks, that since legs w^ere made, nature never constructed such a pair as he is the possessor of, and he accordingly takes every opportunity of obtruding them upon the observation of the audience. ' The earnestness with which he details their circumference, in various parts, to his friends and acquaintance, and the com- placency with which he regards them when only covered with thin black silk stockings, would be a fine subject for any clergyman who wished to preach a sermon on the vanities of this world. Unfortunately the costume of English opera but seldom affords an opportunity for the display of the pedestals on which the musical hero's body is erect- ed, and those of Mr. were too often doomed to be secluded in long wide trowsers, from the ad- miration of the public. But the fates were not always averse, and times would occur when thin black silk stockings were not at variance with the stage regulations. Alexander the Great was a proud and happy man when he crossed the Grani- Gus ; Henry the Fifth when the battle of Agincourt VOL. I. 17 194 PHILADELPHIA, brought the French nobles), who had been playing at dice for him, captives at his feet ; Apelles when his rival mistook his curtain picture for reality, and Brigadier GeneraL the tailor, when surrounded by the best dressed staff in the militia, arrayed in coats of superfine cloth of his own making ; but none of them were so proud and happy as this vo- calist when he at last obtained an opportunity of submitting his unexceptionable pair of legs to the public view. He would rush upon the stage and pour forth his excited feelings in song, and there were few who could entrance an audience w^ith the melody of sound like him — they would hang with breathless attention upon every accent, and he ne- ver failed to make his exit amid the most deafening- applause. This he was far from attributing altoge- ther to his vocal powers. " Ah !" he would say, as he reached the side wing, at the same time slapping the objects of his admiration with affectionate fami- liarity — *' Ah ! it is some time since they have seen such a leg as that 1" This is a long episode, but as it is a fact, and at the same time shows the length to which men will carry their local partialities, it may perhaps be ex- cused. I was greatly amused last week on board a steam-boat, by listening attentively to a disputa- tious conversation between a Bostonian, a New- NEW-YORK* AND BOSTON. 195 Yorker, and a Philadelphian, setting forth the se- veral excellencies of theiryseveral cities. The Bos- tonian was the most learned and pedantic, the New- York man the most loquacious and grandiloquent, and the Philadelphian the most sensitive and un- compromising. The first discoursed in a lofty strain of the classic charms of antiquity, and the advanced state of literature and the fine arts in the regions round about Cape Cod. " The unequalled state of our literary and scientific institutions," said he, " and the extreme beauty of maiiy of our public buildings must be admitted" — '' Public buildings," interrupted the Philadelphian, cutting short the thread of the man of Boston's dis- course, " if you want to see a public building, look at our market, look at our bank, look at our" *'. And if you talk of architectural beauty," said the New-Yorker, " look at our City-hall and St. Paul's church, and the Park theatre ; and as for the fine arts," continued he with solemnity, " I re- gard them as introducing luxury and corruption — as fitted only for the tainted atmosphere of Europe -^as inconsistent with the genius of our political institutions, and, I thank heaven, the charge of en- couraging them cannot be laid to New- York. No !" quoth he, gathering strength as he went along, like a stone rolling down a hill, — " give me the useful 196 PHILADELPHIA, arts. When I contemplate the immense sums our custom-house yearly pay&into the national treasury — when I behold our docks crowded with shipping — when I survey our spacious bay, studded with islands, and our waters covered with" " Your waters !" interrupted the Philadelphian, unable any longer to withstand this torrent of eulo- gium, " your waters ! why there isn't a drop of water fit to drink in your whole town. If you want water, go to Philadelphia ; or if you want milk, or peaches, or shad, or straight streets, or fresh butter, or fresh air, or" — " Fresh air !" interrupted York, in a supercilious tone, and with an ironical though somewhat agi- tated expression of countenance, " why, you have no air worth speaking of in Philadelphia ; look at our fresh air — our fresh sea breezes daily wafted from the vast Atlantic through our streets." " Through your streets !" reiterated the descend- ant of William Penn in a fury ; " through your streets ! Let me tell you, sir, your sea-breezes may be good enough, but your streets are so cursedly crooked that the breezes cannot find their way through them— let me tell you that, sir." The blood of the man of York was up ; but he endeavored to keep down his rising wrath, and then in a voice of affected calmness, though trem- NEW-YORK, AND BOSTON. 197 bling with rage, began to undervalue and sneer at straight streets, and boldly affirmed that crooked ones were infinitely better for a variety of reasons that he did not think proper to mention, and that any man of taste would decide that Pearl-street was a finer street than any in Philadelphia. This was perfectly unbearable, and the Philadel- phian, after swearing in a very wicked manner, went on to more than insinuate that his opponent was a fool, an ass, an idiot, and no gentleman ; and they might have proceeded to settle whether straight or crooked streets were best by knocking each other's brains out, if the company had not interfered. Hap- pily at this crisis the dinner-bell rang, and to those who have traveled much in steam-boats, I need say no more to account for the instant cessation of all symptoms of hostility. Never did the clock strik- ing twelve in a romantic melo-drama produce so dramatic an effect, as the ringing of the dinner-bell on board of a steam-boat. All previous topics of conversation, argumentation, or disputation, are instantly swept away, and a universal rush is made towards the savory cabin. You may know an old traveler by observing him take his station near the hatchway as the time approaches. As soon as the welcome sound strikes his ear, he gives a look of triumph round the deck for a single instant at the 17* 198 PHILADELPHIA, inconsiderate persons who, in remote [parts of ity have been gratifying their passion for the pictu- resque, and immediately dives below. Then may be seen the hurry and trepidation of the novice, the struggle on the part of the gentlemen between the attention and politeness due to the ladies, and their own love of victuals — the painful efforts of the la- dies to preserve an air of unconcern and composure, and their anxiety touching the delicate first-cuts from the bosoms of capons and turkeys — then may be seen the utter looks of consternation of those un- fortunate people who happen to be at the bows of the boat, and the glare of horrid malignity with which all the company above regard any corpulent old gentleman who takes his time in descending the ladder. The most impudent thing I ever wit- nessed in the whole course of my existence, was during a scene of this kind, on board a steam-boat last summer. An astonishingly fat old man was, by reason of his previous advantageous locality, almost the first who reached the entrance to the cabin when the dinner-bell rang. He swung his unwieldly mass of brawn slowly and hsavily into the door- way, completely obstructing the passage, and pro- ceeded to descend at a snail's pace, amid the smo- thered execrations of the company. After a consi- derable interval of time, he succeeded in reaching NEW-YORK, AND BOSTON. 199 the middle of the ladder, when, what will it be sup- posed the fat old man did? He actually came to a full stop, took his hat from his head, drew from thence a pocket-handkerchief, proceeded deliberate- ly to wipe his forehead, then one cheek, then the other, and concluded by drawing it leisurely across his chin, after which he deposited it in his hat again, placed his hat on his head, and continued on his way as if he had done nothing amiss. It speaks volumes for the morals of the people and the state of society, when I affirm, though it may seem in- credible, that he escaped without the slightest vio- lence ! As the lady says in the tragedy, " curses kill not ;*' and it was lucky for the fat old gentleman that this was the case, otherwise he would have been a lifeless corpse before dinner that day. I have rather wandered from the subject of local- ities, and it is now too late to recur to it again. I may, however, state, that the Bostonian, Philadel- phian, and New-Yorker spoke no more during the passage, and doubtless parted with a hearty con- tempt for each other ; thus adding one more to the many instances of the utility of warm disputes about nothing at all. OLD SONGS. Mark it, Cesario, it is old and plain ; The spinsters and the knitters in the sun, And the free maids that weave their thread with bones Do use to chaunt it. — Shaks. I LIKE an old song. It is the freshest piece of an- tiquity in existence ; and is, moreover, hable to no selfish individual appropriation. It was born far back in the traditionary times, so that its parentage is somewhat equivocal; yet its reputation suffers not on that account, and it comes down to us asso- ciated with all kinds of fond and endearing remi- niscences. It melted or gladdened the hearts of our forefathers, and has since floated around the green earth, finding a welcome in every place humanized by a ray of fancy or feeling, from " throne to cot- tage hearth." It has trembled on the hps of past and forgotten beauty ; and has served, in countless wooings, as the appropriate medium for the first OLD SONGS. 201 fearful breathings of affection. The youthful mai- den has broken the silence with it in many a lovely, lonely dell ; and the shepherd has chaunted it on the still hill side. The rude sailor has filled up the pauses of his watch by whisthng it to the shrill winds and sullen waters ; and it has bowed the head, brought the tear to the eye, and recalled home, and home thoughts to the mind of many a wanderer on a distant shore. It has been heard in the solitudes of nature^ and at the crowded, festive board. It has refreshed the worn-out heart of the worldling, and awakened " thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears," in the minds of the moody and contemplative. It has been a source of conso- lation and joy to those who have passed away ; it comes unexhausted to us ; and it will glide gently down the stream of time, cheering and soothing as it goes, from generation unto generation, till utihta- rianism becomes universal, and music and poetry fade into a dimly remembered dream. Yet a true- bred, moth-eaten antiquary would sacrifice it, if he could, for a copper coin fifty years its senior ! If any musical man expect, from the title to this, a learned article, he will be egregiously disap- pointed. I have no pretensions to treat this subject scientifically, being, indeed, admirably qualified, in this age of confessions, as far as want of knowledge 202 OLD SONGS. goes, to write the " confessions of an unmusical man.'* As regards flats and sharps, I am truly lit- tle better than a natural ; and as for quavers, semi- quavers, demi-semi-quavers, and other subtler divi- sions, if there be any, I am as ignorant of thera as the ass that crops his thistle off the common, and brays in whatsoever note nature prompts him. But what of that 1 Music is not altogether a me- chanical science ; and there are profou rider sym- pathies in the heart of man than the orchestra think of. There is no more nauseous animal in exist- ence than your musical coxcomb, who has all the terms and technicahties of the art at his tongue's end, without the glimmering of an idea concerning the human passions, the deep feelings, and the keen and delicate perception of the beautiful, on which that art is founded. Proportionably to b^ admired is the man who, after spending years in study and research, and successfuly fathoming and mastering all difficulties, never dreams of considering his labo- riously-acquired knowledge as more than merely an accessory, not a principal, in the delightful science he has made his study. The former are, as a na- turalist would express it, " in theatres and at con- certs—common ;" the latter is of a species scarce all over the world. There may be loftier flights^ — a higher species of •OLD SONGS. 203 fame, than that attained or aimed at by the song- writer ; but there is no one to whom honor is more gladly rendered by the mass of mortals. His claims come into notice, for the most part, in a genial sea- son — when friends are met, and the glass and sen- timent and song go round ; when gladness swells the heart, fancy tickles the brain, and mirth and good-humor sparkle from the eye ; — when Bacchus has almost closed up criticism's venomous optics, and laid hyper-criticism quietly under the table ; — when the fine-strung nerves are exquisitely alive to all pleasurable sensations ; — then it is that divine music, wedded to still diviner poesy, can, in an in- stant, " bid the warm tear start. Or the smile light the cheek ;" and then it is that the memories of the masters of song are pledged with a fervor that the ethical or epic poet may despise, but can never either expect or hope for from the partiality of his cooler admi- rers»^ Next to Shakspeare there is no one whose memory is more fondly treasured than that of Burns. Independently of being intensely loved and revered wherever a Scottish accent is heard, social societies are formed in every country in which his language is known, to keep that memory fresh 204 OLD SONGSr and green. And he well deserves it. Perhaps his songs are the best ever written. He has not the polish, the refinement, the exuberance of ima- gery, or the sparkling fancy of Moore, but he ex- cels him in humor and pathos. They are, how- ever, both glorious fellows ; and it must be a narrow heart that cannot find room for admiration of more than one. If the lyrics of Burns do not, as yet. strictly come under the designation of " old songs," they at least will do so, for they have the germ of immortality within them. It is almost impossible to dream of the time when " Auld Lang Syne" will not be sung. He had his faults (I am no Scotchman), and in turning over his pages, be- sides occasional coarseness and bad taste, you sometimes meet with a verse, that, " not to speak it profanely,'^ bears a striking resemblance to utter nonsense ; for instance, (though what could be ex- pected from words to such a tune — " Robin Adair !'*) •' Down in a shady walk, Doves cooing were, I mark'd the cruel Kawk Caught in a snare : So kind may fortune be. Such make his destiny ! He who would injure thee, Phillis the fair !" But if your admiration of the poet begin to falter OLD SONGS. 205 for a niomentj perhaps the very next page brings you to " Highland Mary/' " Ae fond kiss and then we sever," " A man's a man for a' that," " Mary Morri- son," or, that song without a name commencing — " Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear, Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear ; Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet, And soft as their parting tear — Jessy !'' Burns has done for Scottish song what Scott has done for Scottish history — made it known and're- nowned in every portion of the globe ; and had '' auld Scotland" never produced any other names of note, these two are amply sufficient to honor and glorify her through all time. What are generally known by the name of " Irish songs," — the " Paddy Whackmeracks," and *' Barny Brallagans" of the pot-house and the play- house, bear ten times less resemblance to the ge- nuine melojdies of the " green isle," than even the majority of regular stage Irishmen do to the exist- ing natives. Both are merely broad English ca- ricatures. The soul of Irish music, beyond that of all other national music, is melancholy. It is, perhaps, too fine a distinction to draw, but of the serious melodies of the three nations, perhaps the English airs are most characterized by mournful sadness — those of Scotland by pathos and tender- VOL. I. 18 206 OLD SONGS. ness— and those of Ireland by a wild, wailing me- lancholy, of an almost indescribable character. But words are poor expositors in such cases. Let any one play a few airs from each, and they will proba- bly furnish him at once with the distinction here attempted to be drawn. I would humbly suggest " Coolin," or " Silent, oh Moyle," as the strongest instances I can think of on the part of Ireland. The English, it is said, have no national melody ; an'd perhaps this is true -of that portion of the coun- try from Dover to the borders ; but long prior to the presence of the Normans, who changed the man- ners and injured the pithiness of the language of the natives, the British had melodies marked by great simplicity and sweetness. Who does not remem- ber the beautiful song, " Ayr hyd y nos," familiarly known as " Poor Mary Ann ?" — then there is that fine air, " Of a noble race was Shenkin," and many others, which may be found in Parry*s AVelsh Me- lodies. These are still to be met with in many a quiet and sequestered glen amid the fastnesses of Wales, where the harp of the Druids took sanc- tuary, and where the poetry and melody of that mysterious sect are still preserved. It is no wonder that at the inpouring of the heterogeneous and mercenary Norman flood, the pure native melodies became corrupted, and were nearly swept away ; OLD SONGS. 207 yet, notwithstanding, the splendid church music of the Enghsh excites the deep admiration of Europe ; and their glees and madriga4s have never been ex- celled. Purcell, Locke, Jackson, and Arne, have I written many charming melodies : but to come nearer to the present day, if I may venture an opi- nion, I would say that justice has scarcely been done to Shield, a sound, manly composer, who has left a number of things behind him which really" and truly deserve to live and flourish amid the mass of musical compositions that, fungus-like, hourly spring into existence, and as rapidly decay. " The Thorn," " Let Fame sound the Trumpet," " Old Towler," " Heaving the Lead," " Ere round the huge Oak," and a number of others, if they cannot justly lay claim to any great degree of ima- ginative beauty, have at least an infusion of genuine melody — a body, ay, and a soul, that will long preserve them from oblivion. Shakspeare's songs, for the most part, have been fortunate in being married to good music ; some of them almost better than they deserve. Whether in ridicule or not of the song-writers of his time, he certainly made too Uberal a use of the " heigh hos" and " ninny nonnys." Next to Ariel's pretty fancy, " Where the bee sucks, there lurk I," the one with the most freedom and lyrical beauty is, to my taste, 208 OLD SONGS. " Under the Greenwood Tree." But it loses half its effect when transplanted from the forest of Ar- den, and sung in a modern room, amid long coats, cravats, decanters, and> etiquette. Neither does it assimilate better with boisterous mirth and whis- key punch. Yet it is an ill-used song, even on the stage. It is too operatically given. Your Amiens is generally (hke the majority of male music-mon- gers) a stiff-hmbed piece of humanity, who under- stands singing, and little else ; he generally takes his station about four feet from the foot-lamps, and there, with elongated physiognomy, and one arm protruded towards the pit, goes through his work with most clock-Uke precision. To parody a beau- tiful simile, it is " music breathing from a wooden block ;" all which is very unlike the free-hearted lord whom we imagine, throwing himself at the root of some antique oak, and, in a fine, mellow voice, trolling forth, until the old forest rang again, his most joyous invitation. But this may be amended when, amid the other astonishing improvements of the times, leading vocahsts shall be endowed with joints and ideas. Next to this, I like the one now invariably put into the mouth of Rosalind, and chris- tened the " Cuckoo Song" " When daisies pied, and violets, blue." OLD SONGS. 209 But your stage Rosalind is generally the reverse of Amiens — an arch, vivacious lass, who imparts due effect to the mixture of natural images and do- mestic ideas suggested by the saucy words of the song. The sea, " the battle and the breeze," and the rapid and manifold vicissitudes incident to the life of a sailor, furnish a bold and beautiful variety of subjects capable of being turned to good account in a song or ballad. Yet, somehow or other, Apollo does not much atTect the quarter-deck. The ocean brine is too powerful for the waters of Castaly. Poesy in some sort suffers by a " sea-change ;" and the quantity to be extracted from a volume of ge- nuine naval ditties is wofully disproportionate to the bulk of rhyme. Some of the best sea songs have been written by landsmen, and one great cause of their being so, is their comparative freedom from perplexing technicalities ; for though a cha- racteristic phrase may occasionally impart life and spirit to a production, yet a technicality, whether in marine or agricultural poetry, is a sore stumbling- block to the uninitiated. Now every line (or plank) of three- fourths of your nautical melodies is calked with them, independently of containing a much larger infusion of tar than tenderness — of pitch 18* 210 OLD SONGS. than pathos. They abound, likewise, in an inor- dinate degree, in descriptions of tornadoes, and dis- charges of artillery— in slaughter and sudden death; and the sentiments correspond thereunto, being as rough as a hawser, and as boisterous as a north- wester. Though admirably adapted to be growled out by the boatswain wheyi the vessel is scudding under double-reefed topsails, they would on land, and in a room, go off like a discharge of musketry. But, worse than all, is the minuteness of detail — the distressing particularity which ever pervades them. They are mere paraphrases of the log-book ; and the due course and reckoning of the ship is most especially insisted on — ■- " That time bound straight for Portugal, Right fore and aft we bore ; But when we made Cape Ortugal, A gale blew off the shore," &g. Yet, after all, there are some noble things in this branch of the *' service," amply sufficient to redeem it from dishke. Who is there that has not held his breath when he has heard a rich, deep-toned voiee^ commence Gay's glorious ballad " All in the Downs the fleet lay moor'd ; The streamers waving in the wind !" and listened throughout, with a quickened pulse, to OLD SONGS. 21i that " plaia unvarnished tale" of humble love and tenderness. There is much, too, to please any man, who is not over and above fastidious, in dozens of Dibdin's vigorous and hearty sketches of a sailor's hardships and enjoyments, to say nothing of Pearce and others of inferior note ; but from your regular forecastle narratives, Apollo deliver us ! Things called " comic songs," to wit, " Four and twenty tailors all in a row," ifec, are, in my mind, striking exemplifications of the depth of debase- ment of which the human intellect is susceptible. In whatever way America is, or may become re nowned, she will probably never be a land of song ; and for two or three reasons. There are already a sufficiency of standard songs in the world to answer all purposes ; and she has impoited an ample suffi- ciency to supply the varied tastes and caprices of her musical population. Moore's Melodies are as common in the cities of the west as in their native land ; and those of Burns are no rarity. The geo- graphy of the country, too, is strikingly unfavora- ble for indigenous song. Nature has created the land in one of her most liberal and magnificent moods, and formed its features on a scale of gran- deur that is impossible to grasp in this kind of writing. The ocean-lakes — the mighty rivers — the interminable forests-- the boundless prairies, are all 2i2 * ^LD SONGI^/ epic rather than lyrical. How would it sound, either for rhyme or reason, " On the shores of Mississippi, When the sweet spring-time did fall !" The idea suggested is too vast. There is no snug endearing locality about such scenes ; and as for " the sweet spring time," it never " falls" on a great proportion of the shores of rivers whose waters rise far towards the regions of eternal winter, and roil through every variety of cUmate, to those of ever- lasting summer ; while the smaller streams, which correspond in size to the " Nith,*' the " Dee" or " Bonnie Doon," are ruined by the general appella- tion of " crik" (creek), which is bestowed upon them ; and to which some such euphonious title as Big Elk, Buffalo, or Otter, is usually prefixed. Besides, America is not rich in recollections of the past. No castles, grim, hoary and dilapidated, frown upon her heights : no gorgeous abbeys moul- der in her verdant vales. The joys, and sorrows, and sufferings of humanity are, as yet, scarcely impressed upon her soil. She has no records of feudal strife, of faded greatness, and fond affection — of all tradition loves, and song delights in. Hope must, in some degree, be to her poets what me- mory is to those of older lands. But the mind of OLD SONGS. 213 the song-writer is reminiscent — not anticipative ; and therefore it is, that with whatever species of fame and greatness America may enrich her brows, it is probable she will never, in one sense, be " worth an old sonff." MORALITY— HORSE RACING. There is a kind of people who, instead of finding •Sermons in stones, and good in every thing," are gifted by nature with a pecuHar quickness in perceiving and detecting vice and wickedness in every variety of form and complexion. They have an aptitude in raking and scraping together all the bad which is generally mixed up with worldly pur- suits and amusements, and of overlooking what- ever of good may be mingled therewith. Whether this intimate acquaintance with evil habits and feelings — this familiarity with the obliquities of human nature, is to be accounted for upon the prin- ciple embodied in the shrewd proverb of " set a thief to catch a thief," ought to be left to people more charitable in their constructions than them- selves, or the verdict would not be at all flattering. The worst of the matter is, they claim this sharp MORALITY—HORSE RACING. 215 perception of the vile and vicious as a sort of merit, and account it pure stern morality harshly to cen- sure what they dislike in the conduct of others. They take a one-sided view of all things, try them according to their own standard of propriety, and so decide tiiat they are altogether right or altogether wrong : they cannot bring themselves to see that *^ the web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together," that " our virtues would be proud if our faults whipped them not ; and our crimes would despair if they were not cherished by our virtues/ This is rather too reasonable and philosophical a view of the question for them, and in reason and philosophy they profess to place but little faith. These infallible personages have seen or heard that there are such things as foolishness and frivolity in ball rooms, and therefore, without taking into account the innocent mirth and harmless gaiety which there predominate, they set down balls as very foolish and frivolous affairs ; they have seen or heard that there are specks of immorality and dis- soluteness to be met with in a theatre, and there- fore set down a theatre as a concentration of all that is dissolute and immoral; they have seen or heard that blacklegs, vagabonds, sharpers, <^ .A^ •J- , X C^. ■vC"'^ ^%£> '' .c,,^-^ -\^'^^ •'^•t '■^i. .^^' ' . %'^ '>. c^^ ^ -%. V^' -^ ,^^ ' X^^^/ ^'^^,^ - •^0-^^ "/ ' C- "^O ^ < ^ V,^^s'v}^ ^0 o ■■>■ ^c,_. V • "^^ 00^ f :^ v^ .< V ^^^ -^^ •\V^ ^-^ '^-e^. c^ LIBRARY 'r'»l CONGRESS llllill 015 785 750 2 i;?'r ' * ;> V';::i^!:i:-^;'n:i'::-;!*:iii.!;f(ii:ii!!ilii I .^: !Sii!Sii.iiisiii;;i 'li : . .i^^'S I'll ' i M kmm Hi