Part 32

[37] Kean is gone--and with him are gone Othello, Shylock, and Richard. I have lived among those whose theatrical creed would not permit them to acknowledge him as a great actor; but they must be bigoted, indeed, who would deny that he was a great genius, a man of most original and striking powers, careless of art, perhaps because he did not need it; but possessing those rare gifts of nature, without which art alone is as a dead body. Who that ever heard will ever forget the beauty, the unutterable tenderness, of his reply to Desdemona's entreaties for Cassio, "Let him come when he will, I can deny thee nothing;" the deep despondency of his "Oh, now farewell;" the miserable anguish of his "Oh, Desdemona, away, away!" Who that ever saw will ever forget the fascination of his dying eyes in Richard, when, deprived of his sword, the wondrous power of his look seemed yet to avert the uplifted arm of Richmond. If he was irregular and unartistlike in his performances, so is Niagara, compared with the water-works of Versailles.

[38] I have acted Ophelia three times with my father, and each time, in that beautiful scene where his madness and his love gush forth together like a torrent swollen with storms, that bears a thousand blossoms on its troubled waters, I have experienced such deep emotion as hardly to be able to speak. The exquisite tenderness of his voice, the wild compassion and forlorn pity of his looks bestowing that on others which, above all others, he most needed; the melancholy restlessness, the bitter self-scorning; every shadow of expression and intonation was so full of all the mingled anguish that the human heart is capable of enduring, that my eyes scarce fixed on his ere they filled with tears; and long before the scene was over, the letters and jewel-cases I was tendering to him were wet with them. The hardness of professed actors and actresses is something amazing: after acting this part, I could not but recall the various Ophelias I have seen, and commend them for the astonishing absence of every thing like feeling which they exhibited. Oh, it made my heart sore to act it.

[39] I am speaking now only of the common saddle-horses that one sees about the streets and roads. The southern breed of race-horses is a subject of great interest and care to all sporting men here: they are very beautiful animals, of a remarkably slight and delicate make. But the perfection of horses in this country are those trained for trotting: their speed is almost incredible. I have been whirled along in a light-built carriage by a pair of famous professed trotters, who certainly got over the ground at the rate of a moderate-going steam-engine, and this without ever for a moment breaking into a gallop. The fondness of the Americans for this sort of horses, however, is one reason why one can so rarely obtain a well-mouthed riding-horse. These trotters are absolutely carried on the bit, and require only a snaffle, and an arm of iron to hold them up. A horse well set upon his haunches is not to be met with; and owing to this mode of breaking, their action is entirely from the head and shoulders; and they both look and feel as if they would tumble down on their noses.

[40] Except where they have been made political tools, newspaper writers and editors have never, I believe, been admitted into good society in England. It is otherwise here: newspapers are the main literature of America; and I have frequently heard it quoted, as a proof of a man's abilities, that he writes in such and such a newspaper. Besides the popularity to be obtained by it, it is often attended with no small literary consideration; and young men here, with talents of a really high order, and who might achieve far better things, too often are content to accept this very mediocre mode of displaying their abilities, at very little expense of thought or study, and neglect far worthier objects of ambition, and the rewards held out by a distant and permanent fame. I know that half my young gentlemen acquaintance here would reply, that they must live in the mean time: and it is a real and deep evil, arising from the institutions of this country, that every man must toil from day to day for his daily bread; and in this degrading and spirit-loading care, all other nobler desires are smothered. It is a great national misfortune.

[41] This delightful virtue of neatness is carried almost to an inconvenient pitch by the worthy Philadelphians: the town, every now and then, appears to be in a perfect frenzy of cleanliness; and of a Saturday morning, early, the streets are really impassable, except to a good swimmer. "Cleanliness," says the old saw, "is near to godliness." Philadelphia must be very near heaven.

[42] The final result of our very unfortunate dealings with this gentleman is, that our earnings (and they are not lightly come by), to the amount of near three thousand dollars, are at this moment in the hands of a trustee, and Heaven and a New England court of justice will decide whether they are ever to come into ours.

[43] When we arrived in America, we brought letters of introduction to several persons in New York: many were civil enough to call upon us: we were invited out to sundry parties, and were introduced into what is there called the first society. I do not wish to enter into any description of it, but will only say that I was most disagreeably astonished; and had it been my fate to have passed through the country as rapidly as most travellers do, I should have carried away a very unfavourable impression of the _best_ society of New York. Fortunately, however, for me, my visits were repeated, and my stay prolonged; and, in the course of time, I became acquainted with many individuals whose manners and acquirements were of a high order, and from whose intercourse I derived the greatest gratification. But they generally did me the favour to visit me; and I still could not imagine how it happened that I never met them at the parties to which I was invited, and in the circles where I visited. I soon discovered that they formed a society among themselves, where all those qualities which I had looked for among the self-styled _best_ were to be found. When I name Miss Sedgwick, Halleck, Irving, Bryant, Paulding, and some of less fame, but whose acquirements rendered their companionship delightful indeed, amongst whom I felt proud and happy to find several of my own name, it will no longer appear singular that they should feel too well satisfied with the resources of their own society, either to mingle in that of the vulgar _fashionables_, or seek with avidity the acquaintance of every stranger that arrives in New York. It is not to be wondered at that foreigners have spoken as they have of what is termed fashionable society here, or have condemned, with unqualified censure, the manners and tone prevailing in it. Their condemnations are true and just as regards what they see; nor, perhaps, would they be much inclined to moderate them when they found that persons possessing every quality that can render intercourse between rational creatures desirable were held in light esteem, and neglected, as either bores, blues, or dowdies, by those so infinitely their inferiors in every worthy accomplishment. The same separation, or, if any thing, a still stronger one, subsists in Philadelphia between the self-styled fashionables and the really good society. The distinction there is really of a nature perfectly ludicrous. A friend of mine was describing to me a family whose manners were unexceptionable and whose mental accomplishments were of a high order: upon my expressing some surprise that I had never met with them, my informant replied, "Oh, no, they are not received by the Chestnut Street _set_." If I were called upon to define that society in New York and Philadelphia which ranks (by right of self-arrogation) as first and best, I should say it is a purely dancing society, where a fiddle is indispensable to keep its members awake; and where their brains and tongues seem, by common consent, to feel that they had much better give up the care of mutual entertainment to the feet of the parties assembled; and they judge well. Now, I beg leave clearly to be understood, there is another, and a far more desirable circle; but it is not the one into which strangers find their way generally. To an Englishman, this _fashionable_ society presents, indeed, a pitiful sample of lofty pretensions without adequate foundation. Here is a constant endeavour to imitate those states of European society which have for their basis the feudal spirit of the early ages, and which are rendered venerable by their rank, powerful by their wealth, and refined, and in some degree respectable, by great and general mental cultivation. Of Boston, I have not spoken. The society there is of an infinitely superior order. A very general degree of information, and a much greater simplicity of manners, render it infinitely more agreeable. But of that hereafter.

[44] The beautiful villas on the banks of the Schuylkill are all either utterly deserted and half ruinous, or let out by the proprietors to tavern-keepers. The reason assigned for this is, that during that season of the year when it would be most desirable to reside there, the fever and ague takes possession of the place, and effectually banishes all other occupants. This very extraordinary and capricious malady is as uncertain in its residence, as unwelcome where it does fix its abode. The courses of some of the rivers, and even whole tracts of country away from the vicinity of the water, have been desolated by it: from these it has passed away entirely, and removed itself to other districts, before remarkably healthy. Sometimes it visits particular places at intervals of one or two seasons; sometimes it attaches itself to one side of a river, and leaves the inhabitants of the other in the enjoyment of perfect health; in short, it is quite as unaccountable in its proceedings as a fine lady. Many causes have been assigned as its origin; which, however, have varied in credibility at almost every new appearance of the malady. The enormous quantity of decaying vegetation with which the autumn woods are strewn, year after year, till it absolutely forms a second soil; the dam lately erected by the water-works, and which, intercepting the tide, causes occasional stagnation; the unwholesome action of water lodging in hollows in the rocks; are all reasons which have been given to me when I have enquired about this terrible nuisance along the banks of the Schuylkill: but there is another, and one which appeared so obvious to me, that when first I saw it, I felt much inclined to attribute the fever and ague to that, and to that alone. I allude to a foul and stagnant ditch, lying between the tow-path and the grounds of these country houses, of nearly a mile in length, and of considerable width. When I saw the sun pouring its intense light down into this muddy pool, covered with thick and unwholesome incrustations, I could not help remarking that this alone was quite sufficient to breed a malaria in the whole neighbourhood; and that if the gentlemen proprietors of the lands along this part of the river would drain this very poisonous-looking repository for bull-frogs, their dwellings would, in all probability, be free from fever and ague.

[45] This beautiful younger world appears to me to have received the portion of the beloved younger son--the "coat of many colours."

[46] This country is in one respect blessed above all others, and above all others deserving of blessing. There are no poor--I say there are none, there _need_ be none; none here need lift up the despairing voice of hopeless and helpless want towards that Heaven which hears when men will not. No father here need work away his body's health, and his spirit's strength, in unavailing labour, from day to day, and from year to year, bowed down by the cruel curse his fellows lay upon him. No mother need wish, in the bitterness of her heart, that the children of her breast had died before they exhausted that nourishment which was the only one her misery could feel assured would not fail them. None need be born to vice, for none are condemned to abject poverty. Oh, it makes the heart sick to think of all the horrible anguish that has been suffered by thousands and thousands of those wretched creatures, whose want begets a host of moral evils fearful to contemplate; whose existence begins in poverty, struggles on through care and toil, and heart-grinding burdens, and ends in destitution, in sickness,--alas! too often in crime and infamy. Thrice blessed is this country, for no such crying evil exists in its bosom; no such moral reproach, no such political rottenness. Not only is the eye never offended with those piteous sights of human suffering, which make one's heart bleed, and whose number appals one's imagination in the thronged thoroughfares of the European cities; but the mind reposes with delight in the certainty that not one human creature is here doomed to suffer and to weep through life; not one immortal soul is thrown into jeopardy by the combined temptations of its own misery, and the heartless selfishness of those who pass it by without holding out so much as a finger to save it. If we have any faith in the excellence of mercy and benevolence, we must believe that this alone will secure the blessing of Providence on this country.

[47] Throughout all the northern states, and particularly those of New England, the Unitarian form of faith prevails very extensively. It appears to me admirably suited to the spiritual necessities of this portion of the Americans. They are a reasoning, not an imaginative, race; moreover, they are a hard-working, not an idle, one. It therefore suits their necessities, as well as their character, to have a religious creed divested at once of mysteries at which the rational mind excepts; and of long and laborious ceremonies, which too often engross the time without the attention of the worshipper. They are poor, too, comparatively speaking; and, were they so inclined, could little afford, either the splendid pageantry which the Romish priesthood require, or the less glaring but not less expensive revenues which the Episcopalian clergy enjoy. Their form of religion is a simple one, a short one, and a cheap one. Without attempting to discuss its excellence in the abstract, it certainly appears to me to be as much fitted for this people, as the marvellous legends and magnificent shows of the Romish church were to the early European nations. The church in America is not, as with us, made a mere means of living: there are no rich benefices, or over-swelled bishoprics, to be hoped for, by the man who devotes himself to the service of God's altar: the pecuniary remuneration of the clergy depends upon the generosity of their congregations; and, for the most part, a sincere love of his vocation must be the American minister's reward, as it was his original instigation to the work.

[48] Whatever progress phrenology may have made in the convictions of people in general, it is much to be hoped that the physiological principles to which, in the development of their system, its professors constantly advert, may find favour even with those who are not prepared to admit the truth of the new philosophy of the human intellect. While we have bodies as well as souls, we must take care of the health of our bodies, if we wish our souls to be healthy. I have heard many people mention the intimate union of spirit and matter, displayed in the existence of a human being, as highly degrading to the former; however that may be, it is certain that we by no means show our value for the one, by neglecting and maltreating the other: and that if, instead of lamenting over the unworthiness of the soul's fleshy partner, we were to improve and correct and endeavour to ennoble it, we should do the wiser thing. Upon a well-regulated digestion and circulation, and a healthful nervous system, many of our virtues depend, much of our happiness; and it is almost as impossible to possess a healthy and vigorous mind in a diseased and debilitated body, as it is unusual to see a strong and healthful body allied to an intemperate and ill-governed spirit. We have some value for the casket which contains our jewel: then should we not have some for that casket to which the jewel absolutely adheres, and which cannot suffer injury itself without communicating it to that which it contains? Exercise, regularity, and moderation in diet and sleep, well-proportioned and varied studies and recreations,--these are none of them subjects of trivial importance to the wise. Much of our ease and contentedness depends upon them; much of our well-being, much of our _well-doing_.

[49] I think it has not been my good fortune, in more than six instances, during my residence in this country, to find ladies "at home" in the morning. The first reason for this is, the total impossibility of having a housekeeper; the American servants steadfastly refusing to obey _two_ mistresses; the being subservient to any appears, indeed, a dreadful hardship to them. Of course this compels the lady of the house to enter into all those minute daily details, which with us devolve upon the superintendent servant, and she is thus condemned, at least for some part of the morning, to the store-room or the kitchen. In consequence of this, her toilet is seldom completed until about to take her morning promenade; and I have been a good deal surprised, more than once, at being told, when I called, that "the ladies were dressing, but would be down immediately." This is French; the disorderly slouching about half the morning in a careless undress being, unluckily, quite compatible with that exquisite niceness of appearance with which the Parisian ladies edify their streets so much, and their homes so little. Another very disagreeable result of this arrangement is, that when you are admitted into a house in the morning, the rooms appear as if they never were used: there are no books lying about, no work-tables covered with evidences of constant use, and if there is a piano, it is generally closed; the whole giving one an uninhabited feel that is extremely uncomfortable. As to a morning lounge in a lady's boudoir, or a gentleman's library, the thing's unheard of; to be sure there are no loungers, where every man is tied to a counting-house from morning till night; and therefore no occasion for those very pleasant sanctums devoted to gossiping, political, literary, and scandalous.

[50] I am sure there is no town in Europe where my father could fix his residence for a week, without being immediately found out by most of the residents of any literary acquirements, or knowledge of matters relating to art; I am sure that neither in France, Italy, or Germany, could he take up his abode in any city, without immediately being sought by those best worth knowing in it. I confess it surprised me, therefore, when I found that, during a month's residence in Philadelphia, scarcely a creature came near us, and but one house was hospitably opened to us; as regards myself, I have no inclination whatever to speak upon the subject but it gave me something like a feeling of contempt, not only for the charities, but for the good taste of the Philadelphians, when I found them careless and indifferent towards one whose name alone is a passport into every refined and cultivated society in Europe. Every where else, in America, our reception was very different; and I can only attribute the want of courtesy we met with in Philadelphia to the greater prevalence of that very small spirit of dignity which is always afraid of committing itself.

[51] The familiar appellation by which the democracy designate their favourite, General Jackson. The hickory wood is the tallest and the toughest possible, and by no means a bad type of some of the President's physical and moral attributes. Hickory poles, as they are called, are erected before most of the taverns frequented by the thorough-going Jacksonites; and they are sometimes surmounted by the glorious "Cap of Liberty," that much abused symbol, which has presided over so many scenes of political frenzy.

[52] In beholding this fine young giant of a world, with all its magnificent capabilities for greatness, I think every Englishman must feel unmingled regret at the unjust and unwise course of policy which alienated such a child from the parent government. But, at the same time, it is impossible to avoid seeing that some other course must, ere long, have led to the same result, even if England had pursued a more maternal course of conduct towards America. No one, beholding this enormous country, stretching from ocean to ocean, watered with ten thousand glorious rivers, combining every variety of climate and soil, therefore, every variety of produce and population; possessing within itself every resource that other nations are forced either to buy abroad, or to create substitutes for at home; no one, seeing the internal wealth of America, the abundant fertility of the earth's surface, the riches heaped below it, the unparalleled facilities for the intercourse of men, and the interchange of their possessions throughout its vast extent, can for an instant indulge the thought that such a country was ever destined to be an appendage to any other in the world, or that any chain of circumstances whatever could have long maintained in dependence a people furnished with every means of freedom and greatness. But far from regretting that America has thrown off her allegiance, and regarding her as a rebellious subject and irreverent child, England will surely, ere long, learn to look upon this country as the inheritor of her glory; the younger England, destined to perpetuate the language, the memory, the virtues, of the noble land from which she is descended. Loving and honouring my country as I do, I cannot look upon America with any feeling of hostility. I not only hear the voice of England in the language of this people, but I recognise in all their best qualities, their industry, their honesty, their sturdy independence of spirit, the very witnesses of their origin--they are English; no other people in the world would have licked us as they did; nor any other people in the world built up, upon the ground they won, so sound, and strong, and fair an edifice.

With regard to what I have said in the beginning of this note, of the many reasons which combined to render this country independent of all others, I think they in some measure tell against the probability of its long remaining at unity with itself. Such numerous and clashing interests; such strong and opposite individuality of character between the northern and southern states; above all, such enormous extent of country; seem rationally to present many points of insecurity, many probabilities of separations and breakings asunder; but all this lies far on, and I leave it to those who have good eyes for a distance.