especially in the large western cities, they have balls almost every night; indeed it is a life of idleness and vacuity of outward pretence, but of no real good feeling.
Scandal rages—every one is busy with watching her neighbour’s affairs; those who have boarded there longest take the lead, and every newcomer or stranger is canvassed with the most severe scrutiny; their histories are ascertained, and they are very often sent to Coventry, for little better reason than the will of those who, as residents, lay down the law.
Indeed, I never witnessed a more ridiculous compound of pretended modesty, and real want of delicacy, than is to be found with this class of sojourners on the highway. Should any of their own sex arrive, of whom some little scandal has been afloat, they are up in arms, and down they plump in their rocking-chairs; and although the hotel may cover nearly an acre of ground, so afraid are they of contamination, that they declare they will not go down to dinner, or eat another meal in the hotel, until the obnoxious parties “clear out.” The proprietors are summoned, husbands are bullied, and, rather than indignant virtue should starve in her rocking-chair, a committee is formed, and the libelled parties, guilty or not guilty, are requested to leave the hotel. As soon as this purification is announced, virtue, appeased, recovers her appetite, and they all eat drink, talk scandal, flirt, and sing without invitation as before.
I have been severe upon this class of society in America, not only because I consider that it deserves it, but because I wish to point out that Miss Martineau’s observations must be considered as referring to it, and not to the general character of the American woman.
Note 1. The Americans are apt to boast that they have not to pay for civility, as we do in England, by facing waiters, coachmen, etcetera. In some respects this is true, but in the cities the custom has become very prevalent. A man who attends a large dinner-table, will of course pay more attention to those who give him something, than to those who do not; one gives him something, and another, if he wishes for attention and civility, is obliged to do the same thing. In some of the hotels at New York, and in the principal cities, you not only must fee, but you must fee much higher than you do in England, if you want to be comfortable.
Note 2. If I am rightly informed; there are very unpleasant cutaneous diseases to which the Americans are subject, from the continual use of the same brush and comb, and from sleeping together, etcetera, but it is a general custom. At Philadelphia, a large ball was given, (called, I think, the Fireman’s Ball,) and at which about 1,500 people were present, all the fashion of Philadelphia; yet even here there were six combs, and six brushes, placed in a room with six looking-glasses for the use of all the gentlemen. An American has come into my room in New York, and sans cérémonie taken up my hair-brush, and amused himself with brushing his head. They are certainly very unrefined in the toilet as yet. When I was travelling, on my arrival at a city I opened my dressing case, and a man passing by my room when the door was open, attracted by the glitter, I presume, came in and looked at the apparatus which is usually contained in such articles—“Pray, Sir,” said he, “are you a dentist?”
Note 5. In a chapter which follows this, I have said that the women of America are physically superior to the men. This may appear contradictory, as of course they could not be born so; nor are they, for I have often remarked how very fine the American male children are, especially those lads who have grown up to the age of fourteen or sixteen. One could hardly believe it possible that the men are the same youths, advanced in life. How is this to be accounted for? I can only suppose that it is from their plunging too early into life as men, having thrown off parental control, and commencing the usual excesses of young men in every country at too tender an age. The constant stimulus of drink must, of course, be another powerful cause; not that the Americans often become intoxicated, on the contrary, you will see many more in this condition every day in this country than you will in America. But occasional intoxication is not so injurious to the constitution as that continual application of spirits, which must enfeeble the stomach, and, with the assistance of tobacco, destroy its energies. The Americans are a drinking but not a drunken, nation, and, as I have before observed, the climate operates upon them very powerfully.
Volume One—Chapter Five
In this chapter I shall confine myself to the emigration to the United States, reserving that to Canada until I remark upon that colony. In discussing this question I have no statistics to refer to, and must, therefore, confine myself to general observations.
What the amount of emigration from the Old Continent to the United States may be at present I do not think the Americans themselves can tell, as many who arrive at New York go on to the Canadas. The emigrants are, however, principally English, Irish, and German; latterly, the emigration to New South Wales, New Zealand, and particularly Texas, has reduced the influx of emigrants to the United States.
It ought to be pointed out, that among the emigrants are to be found the portion of the people in the United States the most disaffected and the most violent against England and its monarchical institutions; and who assist very much to keep up the feelings of dislike and ill-will which exist towards us. Nor is this to be wondered at; the happy and the wealthy do not go into exile; they are mostly disappointed and unhappy men, who attribute their misfortunes, often occasioned by their own imprudence, to any cause but the true one, and hate their own country and its institutions because they have been unfortunate in it. They form Utopian ideas of liberty and prosperity to be obtained by emigration; they discover that they have been deceived, and would willingly, if possible, return to the country they have abjured, and the friends they have left behind. This produces an increase of irritation and ill-will, and they become the more violent vituperative in proportion as they feel the change.6
I have had many conversations with English emigrants in the United States, and I never yet found one at all respectable, who did not confess to me that he repented of emigration. One great cause of this is honourable to them; they feel that in common plain-dealing they are no match for the keen-witted, and I must add unprincipled, portion of the population with which they are thrown in contact. They must either sacrifice their principle or not succeed.
Many have used the same expression to me. “It is no use, sir, you must either turn regular Yankee and do as they do, or you have no chance of getting on in this country.”
These people are much to be pitied; I used to listen to them with feelings of deep compassion. Having torn themselves away from old associations, and broken the links which should have bound them to their native soil, with the expectation of finding liberty, equality, and competence in a new country, they have discovered when too late that they have not a fraction of the liberty which is enjoyed in the country which they have left; that they have severed themselves from their friends to live amongst those with whom they do not like to associate; that they must now labour with their own hands, instead of employing others; and that the competence they expected, if it is to be obtained, must be so by a sacrifice of those principles of honesty and fair-dealing imbibed in their youth, adhered to in their manhood, but which now that they have transplanted themselves, are gradually, although unwillingly, yielded up to the circumstances of their position.
I was once conversing with an Irishman; he was not very well pleased with his change; I laughed at him, and said, “But here you are free, Paddy.”—“Free?” replied he, “and pray who the devil was to buy or sell me when I was in Ireland? Free! och! that’s all talk; you’re free to work as hard as a horse, and get but little for so doing.”
The German emigrants are by far the most contented and well-behaved. They trouble themselves less about politics, associate with one another as much as possible, and when they take a farm, always, if they possibly can, get it in the neighbourhood of their own countrymen.
The emigrants most troublesome, but, at the same time, the most valuable to the United States, are the Irish. Without this class of people the Americans
I was once conversing with one who was formerly very popular with the democrats, but who was likely to be outset by another demagogue, who “went the whole hog,” down to the Agrarian system. “Captain,” said he, with his fist clenched, “I’m the very personification of democracy, but I’m out-Heroded by this fellow. The emigrants are a pack of visionaries, who don’t know what they want. The born Americans I can deal with, but with these newcomers democracy is not sufficient; they want a mobocracy, and I suppose we must have it.”—“You have it now,” replied I.—“Well, captain, I believe you’re right.”
