CHAPTER III.

The Dinner.—Reflections on the Homage paid to American Women.—Observation of a Fashionable young Lady on American eating.—The Party after Dinner.—An American descanting on the Fashions.—Parallel between English and American Women.—Manner of rising in Society.—Extravagance and Waste of the Middle Classes.—Toad-eating of Fashionable Americans in Europe.—Their Contempt for the Liberal Institutions of their Country.—Manner in which the Society of America may be used as a means of correcting the Notions of European Exaltados.—The British Constitution in high favour with the Upper-Classes.—Southern and Northern Aristocracy contrasted.—Aristocracy of Literati.—American Women in Society and at Home.—Pushing in Society the cause of Failures.—Western Aristocracy.—An Aristocratic Lady in Pittsburgh.—Aristocracy in a Printer’s Shop.—Philosophical Windings-up of the Party.

“To feed, were best at home;
From thence, the sauce to meat is ceremony;
Meeting were bare without it.”

Macbeth, Act III. Scene 4.

When we entered the dining-room, soup and fish were already removed, and active operation commenced on chickens, ducks, turkeys, beef, veal, mutton, and pork,—the seven standing dishes in the United States. We were fortunate enough to obtain seats not far from the landlady, right in the middle of a garden of blooming beauties. The ladies were all en grande toilette, though among the gentlemen not one appeared to be dressed for dinner. The conversation was very loud; but, notwithstanding, completely drowned in the clatter of knives and forks. I perceived that the women talked, not only much more, but also much louder than the men; American gentlemen of the higher classes being indeed the most bashful creatures, in the presence of ladies of fashion, I ever saw. They approach women with the most indubitable consciousness of their own inferiority, and, either from modesty or prudence, seldom open their lips except to affirm what has been said by the ladies. One is always reminded of poor Candide’s honest prayer, “Hélas! madame; je répondrai comme vous voudrez.” I have seen one of the most distinguished old gentlemen in the United States,—one who held the highest rank in the gift of the American people, and whose learning and knowledge on most subjects rendered him a most pleasing and entertaining companion of men,—betray as little self-possession in the presence of women as if he had been making his début in society, and this too in the house of one of his most intimate friends.

This excessive awkwardness in the men, to which even the most distinguished of their race make no exception, must be owing to something radically wrong in the composition of American society, which places men as well as women in a false position. The conviction of this fact must force itself on the mind of every impartial observer who has had an opportunity of making himself familiar with the customs and manners of the higher classes. There appears to be a singular mixture of respect and want of sincerity on the part of the men with regard to the women, produced, I believe, by the unnatural position which the latter hold wherever they are brought into contact with the former.

In the first place, American ladies occupy, from mere courtesy, a rank in society which is not only opposed to that which they hold in private life and in their own families, but which is actually incompatible with the exercise of discretion on the part of the gentlemen. “The ladies must be waited upon;” “the ladies must be helped;” “the ladies must be put into the carriage;” “the ladies must be taken out of the carriage;” “the ladies must have their shoe-strings tied;”[2] “the ladies must have their India-rubber shoes put on;” “the ladies must be wrapped up in shawls;” “the ladies must be led up stairs and down stairs;” “the ladies must have their candles lit for them when they go to bed.” On every occasion they are treated as poor helpless creatures who rather excite the pity than the admiration of men; and as the services they require are numerous, just in proportion to the scarcity of hired servants, the gentlemen are obliged to officiate in their stead.

These continual exigencies cannot but render the society of women often irksome to men who are daily engaged from ten to twelve hours in active business, before they dress to do the agreeable at a party; and hence the retiring of the ladies is but too frequently hailed as the signal for throwing off restraint, or, as I once heard it called, “for letting off the steam,” and being again natural and easy. If in any of these matters the men were allowed to use their own discretion in bestowing attention on those only whom they like, all would be well enough. The ladies would receive a great deal of voluntary tribute; and the gentlemen, delighted with the privilege of a choice, would be more prodigal of their petits soins to those who would have a smile in return for their devotion. But, instead of this, a fashionable American is harassed by an uninterrupted series of exactions, made for no other purpose than for gratifying “the ladies;” while the rules of society are such, that he can scarcely ever find a chance of making himself agreeable to a particular individual. Hence an American salon exhibits nothing but generalities of men and women, in which no other merit is recognised but that which belongs to the sex. In this manner American ladies are worshipped; but the adoration consists in a species of polytheism, in which no particular goddess has a temple or an altar dedicated to herself.

Whenever an American gentleman meets a lady, he looks upon her as the representative of her sex; and it is to her sex, not to her peculiar amiable qualities, that she is indebted for his attentions. But look upon the same lady when she returns home from a party, or after the company has been dismissed at her own house! She is indeed honoured and respected, a happy mother, a silent contented wife, and complete mistress at home; but how seldom is she the intimate friend of her husband, the repository of his secrets, his true and faithful counsellor,—in one word, the better half of his existence! And yet what woman would not rather be that, than an idol, placed on an artificial elevation in society, in order to be deprived of her true influence on the deliberations and actions of men. I have undoubtedly seen American ladies who were all a woman could wish to be to their husbands; but I scarcely remember one, especially in fashionable life, who was not quoted to me as an exception to the rule.

Such were my reflections as I took my seat next to the fashionable angel who, by doing me the honour of accepting my arm, was actually doing me out of my dinner. There were but six black servants in the room to wait upon more than fifty people; and in South Carolina I had often seen six negroes wait upon one person, without being able to make him comfortable. Under such circumstances, the business of a gentleman is to see that the lady next to him does not leave the table without having had something to eat; and for this purpose no small exertion and ingenuity are required, especially when one does not know the names of those sable attendants, and has no opportunity of slipping half a dollar into their hands.

At first we waited a while with great patience, showing to our greedy neighbours that we were neither as hungry nor as ill-bred as themselves; but when I saw one dish after the other disappear—the tender loin of the beef gone—the oyster sauce dried up by the side of the carcass of a turkey—everything which once had wings reduced to its bare legs—and these legs themselves to mere drumsticks—

“George!” exclaimed I in despair, “come and help this lady.”

“Never mind me, sir; I get plenty,” whispered the fair.

No answer from the servant.

“John, I say! why won’t you come hither?”

“My name is not John, sir,” grinned one of the negroes as he passed by to wait upon another person.

“Sam, then!” I cried, “and may the Lord have mercy on you!”

“Wat wil you be hept to, massa?” ejaculated a dark, glossy mulatto, whose face looked as if it had just been varnished.

“What will you have, Miss ***?” demanded I of the lady.

“Why, I really don’t know. I have not had time to think of it. They all eat so fast.”

“Sam!” exclaimed a stentorian voice from the other end of the table.

“Yes, massa,” replied Sam, and was seen no more.

“Don’t you think, Miss ***,” said I, “it would be better for you to make up your mind as to what you intend to eat before you come to dinner? It would, I think, be an easy task, as in every large hotel or boarding-house there appears to be the same daily variety of standing dishes.”

“I am not hungry,” replied the lady, with a furtive glance on the plate of her vis-à-vis, on which the white tender breast of a turkey, hugged in the embrace of a ruddy slice of Virginia ham, was softly reposing on a bed of mashed potatoes, and that delicious vegetable designated by the poetic appellation of “squash.” The extreme borders of the plate were garnished with cranberry and apple sauce; and a quarter of a cabbage, placed with the dexterity of an artist in the background, just completed the perspective.

“Neither am I,” said I. “Will you allow me to take wine with you?”

A slight convulsion of her body, similar to the one previously described,—and of which no one can form a correct idea who has not witnessed the effect of a galvanic battery on a person touching the two poles,—informed me of her acquiescence. Accordingly I filled both our glasses with champaign; and, looking at her with all the tenderness which the effervescence of that sparkling liquid is capable of inspiring, emptied mine to the very bottom. When I raised my eyes again I found hers dissolved in dew; for, instead of drinking, she had only suffered the spirituous ether to play with the end of her nose, the liquid itself remaining untouched in the vessel. I now began to feel concerned for her; so, seizing the arm of one of the attendants, who was just attempting to make his escape with the remnant of an oyster pie, I made at once a prize of his cargo, and without further ceremony shared it equally with my fastidious companion.

“Now what vegetable will you be helped to?” demanded I.

“To none, if you please, with a pâté aux huîtres,” was the reply of the young lady.

“But, before you will have done with the pâté aux huîtres, the vegetables will be gone.”

“I am sorry for that,” said she; “but I cannot bear taking so many things on one and the same plate. The very sight of it is sufficient to take away one’s appetite.”

Here her vis-à-vis bestowed upon her a long look of astonishment, resting his left elbow on the table, and reducing the velocity of his right hand, which was armed with a formidable three-pronged fork, almost to zero.

“Indeed,” continued she, without appearing to notice his emotion, “our people do not know how to eat.”

“Indeed, I think they acquit themselves admirably,” said I.

“And do you call that eating?” said she. “What must the English think of us when they see us act in this manner? Oh! I wish dinner were over! Are the gentlemen not already leaving the table?”

“Yes, Miss ***; those, probably, whose business will not allow them to stop for pudding.”

“Oh, I did not wish to deprive you of your enjoyment; I would merely tax your politeness with the request of accompanying me to the door.”

“I know no greater happiness than that of obeying your commands,” said I, doing as I was bid. “I shall have the honour of joining you by-and-by in the parlour.”

“Pray, don’t let me interfere with your favourite amusements. I know you like to take a glass of wine and smoke a cigar after dinner.”

“I can assure you,” said I, “I do not smoke at all.”

“What! you don’t smoke? For mercy’s sake! I hope you don’t chew?”

“I do not use tobacco in any shape.”

“Well, that is certainly a great recommendation!” exclaimed she. “I wish I could persuade our gentlemen to imitate your example; it would perhaps cure them of the disgusting habit of spitting.”

All this was said sufficiently loud for every one near her to hear; after which the young lady, having attracted the general attention of the company, vanished through the folding-doors with the same ease and composure as a French actress who has been the favourite of the public for years.

When I regained my place, pudding and pastry had disappeared; and, the cloth being removed, dessert was placed on the table. This was of course the signal for the general departure of ladies and gentlemen; so that in about five minutes my friend and myself, two or three elderly gentlemen, the agent of the Manchester house, and the fat English doctor, were the only persons remaining in the room.

“Let us club together,” said the doctor, “and call for an extra bottle of old Carolina madeira.”

“I am glad to hear that,” cried my friend; “but, above all things, let us get some biscuits and cheese,—I have not had a mouthful of dinner.”

“Served you right!” said the doctor; “why will you be prating to those girls? They have had their dinner long ago at a confectioner’s shop. I have made it a rule of my life, ever since I came to this country, to take my place at the end of the table, as far as possible removed from everything feminine; and to the observation of this maxim I am indebted for my good figure, in spite of the fogs and the easterly winds.”

“Why, you know, doctor,” interrupted a thin-looking American, “that your shape would not answer at all for a ladies’ man. In the first place, you have the chest and shoulders of an English collier; your face is full and round, as though you had been swilling porter all your life; your legs, especially your thighs, are the very essence of beef; and, above all, sir, you have a paunch!—a paunch which would frighten any of our West-end ladies into hysterics! An American exquisite must not measure more than twenty-four inches round the chest; his face must be pale, thin, and long; and he must be spindle-shanked, or he won’t do for a party. There is nothing our women dislike so much as corpulency: weak and refined are synonymous.”

“That’s a fact,” rejoined my friend; “I heard Mrs. ***, of F——a, descant on the vulgarity of English women, because they were accustomed to walk.”

“And in all sorts of weather, too, without being laid up six weeks with the hooping-cough!” cried the doctor.

“The fact is,” rejoined the American gentleman, “your English women are of a much coarser make than ours; they are eternally taking exercise for their health; and, as for physical strength, I believe there are no women equal to them in the world.”

“And it is well for them they are so,” observed another American, who, I understood, was a gentleman established in New York; “for they are not treated with nearly the same respect as ours.”

“If by respect you mean external attention,” rejoined the doctor, “and more especially exemption from labour and personal exertion, you are certainly right as far as regards your city women of New York, Boston, Philadelphia, &c. Our London women of the middle and even higher classes can walk alone, stand alone, and, when taking tea or coffee, do not require a gentleman to hold the saucer for them. Whenever they require an attendance of this sort, they hire it; and, until they can afford paying a page, manage to dispense with his services.”

“Excellent Englishwomen!” cried the third American, who happened to be a Boston lawyer, and a great admirer of England. “Would to Heaven our Yankee women were like yours! I do not mean to cast a reflection on the high moral qualities of our ladies; for I believe that, in regard to virtue, they can challenge the world for a comparison. I speak of the excessive pretensions and fastidious conduct, not only of our rich fashionable women, but also of the wives and daughters of our men of moderate fortune. No sooner do they find out that their husbands or fathers have laid up a couple of thousand dollars in a bank, than they set up for ladies of the ton; and then they want to ride in their own carriages; live in houses for which they pay from eight hundred to a thousand dollars’ rent; give parties to which they invite people whom they never met before, and from which they exclude their friends and nearest relations, in order not to be shamed by their presence; rake up a relationship with some colonel in the revolutionary army, or some noble family in Europe,—the latter is by far the most respectable; hang up the portraits of their ancestors in their parlours; make the tour of the springs in the summer; and spend a winter in Washington. Waste becomes now the order of the day; and if, in spite of their scrambling after fashionable society, they do not obtain access to the very first of it, the men are teased and tormented until they leave their native city to seek in one of the numerous ‘growing places’ of the West an asylum in which they cannot be outdone by the old families.”

“Our Yankee moralist is right,” exclaimed the New-Yorker; “nothing can be more contemptible than the endless pretensions of our parvenus.”

“If you speak in this manner,” rejoined the Boston lawyer, bestowing a knowing glance on the New-Yorker, “you pronounce sentence on nine-tenths of our industrious citizens. What great difference, after all, is there between a parvenu of ten years’ standing, and a parvenu who is just making his début in society? I have nothing to say against those who by perseverance and success in business have acquired fortunes that enable them to live in a style superior to that of their neighbours; but there is a way of playing the bourgeois gentilhomme which exposes a man deservedly to ridicule.”

“Like Mr. *** the grocer, who has just turned India merchant, and who will crowd his rooms with the most costly furniture, in such a manner that you cannot pass from one into the other without running against a table, a sofa, or a piano.”

“Or like Mrs. ***, the wife of the iron-monger, who has taken it into her head to patronize the arts, and has overhung the nice clean walls of her parlour with all the dirty daubs her husband has bought on his late tour through Italy.”

“Or like Mrs. *** of Philadelphia, the wife of the auctioneer, whose bals costumés are said to rival those of London and Paris, and whose husband gives to his male friends ‘a treat’ once a fortnight.”

“Or like those poor devils who live ‘all in a row’ in the West-end of our city without ever seeing one another, each expecting to be in due time admitted into fashionable society on paying the penalty of a party.”

“To which none but the gentlemen come.”

“And those only at a very late hour, just in time for supper.”

“I should not care for all that,” resumed the Bostonian, “if one could get away from that sort of society; but this is actually impossible, unless one emigrate to the South or West. The same artificial distinctions exist at the South: but then in the Southern States the distinctions are real, not imaginary; they date from the time of the colonies, and, being in part based on the possession of real estate, do not change with every fluctuation of trade. A man may there visit ten years in the same circle without seeing a single new face, except that of a stranger; while in New York every new quotation of exchange excludes a dozen families from the pale of fashion, and creates a dozen new candidates for its imaginary honours. Every commercial loss or gain,” he continued, “exercises a controlling influence on the happiness and prospects of our families. It changes at once their friends, their associates, and often their nearest relations, into strangers. How many ties are thus broken by a single failure in business! and how many failures occur, because the heads of those families dare not retrench,—have not the courage to live within their income,—cannot bring themselves to lead their children out of a higher circle into a lower one,—have not the heart to blight their prospects in life! No! they must play the hypocrite,—live as though they were men of fortune; marry their daughters, who are brought up in the most expensive habits, to young spendthrifts, who expect them to inherit fortunes; and then die, without leaving to their heirs wherewith to procure for them a decent funeral! This, sir, is a picture of our first society, established on the system of credit! And then how much real happiness is lost in the foolish endeavour to get into the first society of our Atlantic cities; which, after all, differs from the second and third, from which it is necessarily daily recruited, in nothing that could strike an European except in the greater display of wealth and waste. The little Miss at school is already panting for the society of ‘the higher girls,’ and cuts her old playmates the moment her father can dress her well enough for better company. No sooner has she left school than she teases and torments her parents until they allow her to give a party, to which, of course, none but her new acquaintances are invited; and which, with her, is the beginning of a new era,—the commencement of her formal separation for life from all her early friends, relatives, and often her own parents. This, sir, is the first act of a young fascinating creature of seventeen, introducing her to the attractions of fashionable life. At that tender age, when girls in other countries are considered as mere children, she has already learned to check the better impulses of her nature, in order to conform to the customs and usages of the world. But this is not all. The bold, sophisticated girl, who has struck out her independent course of life, is no longer conducted and watched by her parents, whose inferior rank in society does not allow them to accompany her to any of the balls and parties to which she is now invited: her mother ceases to be the repository of her secrets, her guardian, and friend; she is barely asked her consent when the young heroine is at last going to be married. If, under these circumstances, and despite of the perverse rules of society, the conduct of our women remains still unexceptionable, it must be ascribed to the force of religion, to the constant occupation of the men, the practice of early marriages, and, above all, to that all-embracing power of public opinion, which in no other country punishes the vicious and guilty with the same unrelenting severity.”

“And a good deal perhaps also to that part of public opinion which punishes the gentlemen as severely as the ladies,” observed the doctor, finishing his glass.

“You may perhaps object,” continued the Bostonian, who appeared to be bent on a homily, “that a similar sort of toad-eating to the higher classes exists also in England; the lower order of the English being even more submissive to those above them than the same classes in America: but on the Continent you seldom see a man or woman pay their court to a superior, except for a special object; the mere admission into fashionable society rarely induces a man to throw away his self-respect, and to cringe and fawn before titled personages.”

“It is for this reason that the manners of certain classes of the English are less free and natural than those of the same orders on the Continent; the former being only easy and agreeable in the society of their native town, where their character is known and understood. Go and visit all the courts of Europe, from Paris to St. Petersburg, and from Stockholm to Naples, and if you find a toad-eater caressing the feet of majesty, and exercising his utmost ingenuity to be on good terms with the most distinguished noble families, you may be sure he is either English or American. But the American will outdo the Englishman. He will be twice as humble before ribands and stars, and three times as insolent to an inferior, as honest John Bull. He will feast six months on the breakfast of a duke, and then regale his countrymen six months longer with the recital of its splendours. He will actually beg himself into society, solicit letters of introduction on the most humiliating terms, pocket quietly a thousand refusals, and, when finally he succeeds in being smuggled into the drawing-room of a princess, is the first to betray her hospitality in publishing her foibles to the world!

“Very few Englishmen will go as far as that; and, if there be some that forget to stand sentinel on their dignity, there are fortunately enough of those whose rank, title, and fortune, readily procure them the distinction others are obliged to court. But the Americans who go to Europe leave their self-assumed rank in society behind; they go thither as plain citizens of a republic, dependent entirely on their letters of introduction, and the civility of those to whom these letters are directed. Their first care, therefore, is to impress all with whom they come in contact with the belief that, though the spirit of the American constitution recognises no nobility, such an order of society nevertheless exists de facto; and that they themselves belong to the ‘few select’ of that ‘large Augean stable.’ I assure you I quote the very words of Americans, as I have often heard them; for railing against their country constitutes one of the chief amusements of our Yankee exquisites at home and abroad.

“In this manner they hope to ingratiate themselves with the old aristocracy of Europe, whom they flatter and console with repeated assurances that the ‘mob government of America’ will not last half a century; and that they themselves are so far converted to the ancient and noble doctrines as to be determined to leave their country for the purpose of sojourning amongst civilized men. On the principle, then, that one repentant sinner is more acceptable in the eye of the Lord than a hundred just men, these Americans are admitted into favour; but, notwithstanding their partial success, few of them understand the art of se laisser aller. One can always see that they are not brought up for sociable idleness; and when a bill is presented,—were it even for a patent of nobility,—you would see them wax pale with horror as they thrust their hands into their pockets.”

“I often remarked the penuriousness of fashionable Americans in Europe; but I cannot say that this is a fault to which they are much addicted at home,” observed my friend, with a sarcastic look on the New-Yorker, who, I understood, had just commenced a wholesale business without capital.

“In the United States,” rejoined the Bostonian, “a man will frequently be liberal with the money that is not precisely his own; the credit system allows him to spend more than his income: but in Europe, where he is obliged to pay for everything as he goes along, he soon learns to hold on to the cash.”

“That is one reason,” said my friend; “and the second is, he does not know how to spend his money. He lays it out on things Europeans value but little, and is most parsimonious where Europeans are most liberal. I knew a Bostonian in Paris who would pay twelve francs a day for his fire, and in the evening drive in a common hackney-coach to a party; another would give his wife a shawl of a thousand francs, but refuse her some Nancy embroidery; and a third would purchase for his wife and daughters pocket-handkerchiefs at a hundred francs a-piece, but object to their being washed. I was present when an American lady, who was told by a French gentleman that at a certain shop on the Boulevards there were very nice embroidered ladies’ handkerchiefs to be had at two napoleons a-piece, exclaimed, ‘Comment! et vous croyez que je puisse porter des mouchoirs à quarante francs?’

“‘Et quels mouchoirs portez-vous donc, Madame?’ exclaimed the Frenchman, half embarrassed and half amazed.

“‘Je ne porte que des mouchoirs à six-cents francs.’

“‘Et comment sont-ils donc faits, ces mouchoirs là?’ demanded the astonished Frenchman.

“‘Comme ce-ci,’ replied the lady, turning up her nose, and throwing a huddled-up, dirty, pocket-handkerchief on the table, which the Frenchman, either from delicacy or fear, did not dare to unravel.

“‘Ah! en vérité,”’ cried the gallant Parisian, turning away his head, ‘ils sont excessivement jolis.’

“When the same lady was afterwards told that she could perform the journey from Paris to Nice for less than a thousand francs, she remarked to her husband who had made the inquiry, ‘Oh, I dare say some people may do it even for less; but we always travel en grand seigneur.’”

“Pray,” said the Bostonian, “did that woman never claim any relationship to some European prince? They are seldom very extravagant unless they can prove themselves descended from a nobleman.”

“To be sure she did,” replied my friend; “not indeed to a prince, but to a duke, whose name is preserved in the history of his country. She told her friends and acquaintances that she only came to Europe to assist at the coronation of the Queen of England; which, she being a dame d’atour, could not very well be performed without her.”

“Oh, yes!” exclaimed the doctor; “I believe anything of your fashionable characters, except that they can live a month without Epsom salt or calomel.”

“I dare say she would have been just as humble and cringing in company of a British peer, as she was haughty and insolent with a poor Frenchman,” observed my friend. “She would have gone through all the regular stages of toad-eating, in order to procure, as a particular favour, a place in some corner of a room from which she might have peeped at the lovely person of her British Majesty.”

“I am sure of that,” cried the Bostonian; “that’s the way our people do when brought within the sphere of attraction of a court.”

“And is it not strange,” resumed my friend, “that the Americans, who at home are the most thin-skinned people in the world,—always ready to punish in the most severe, and sometimes in the most atrocious manner, every offence offered to the nation or to individuals,—should, on leaving home, so far lay aside their character and self-respect as to literally creep through the palaces of princes for the sordid satisfaction of being able to say that they have been there?”

“The contempt of our fashionable people for the liberal institutions of their country, and their admiration of everything that is European, are so well known and understood in Europe,” observed the Bostonian, “that of all the travellers through France, Germany, and Italy, the Americans suffer the least molestation or inconvenience from passports. Their presence in any country can only serve to chill the ardour of the liberals, as there is indeed no greater punishment for an European demagogue than to pass a year or two in the United States. Our fashionable society is capable of curing the maddest republican of his political distemper. Just send him over here for two months, with plenty of letters to our first people, and he will return home as quiet and loyal a subject as any one born in the sunshine of royal favour.”

“And, on the other hand, it is the European emigrants that have been chiefly instrumental in establishing our present mob government,” observed the New-Yorker. “Those blackguards—I mean principally the Germans and the Irish,—come here with the most ridiculous notions of liberty and equality. Having been slaves all their lives, they set an exaggerated value on freedom, without knowing the value of property. The British constitution, after all, is the best adapted to the wants of a free people; isn’t it?”

“Most assuredly it is,” replied the Bostonian; “we all know it, but none of us dare say so aloud, for fear of being mobbed: but murder will out, you know.”

“What can a man know about our institutions, if he be not ‘raised’ among us?” rejoined the New-Yorker. “Our institutions, after all, are but the English, improved or mutilated, just as you please; but, be this as it may, I prefer the English to our own. I cannot bear equality.”

“Nor I,” said the other American.

“Nor I either,” said the Bostonian; “and I know a number of our people who would not stay in Paris, on account of the ridiculous equality which pervades all classes of French society. They have had quarrels with their servants, and have been summoned with those scoundrels before the same tribunal.”

“That’s the reason I dislike the Irish so much,” resumed the New-Yorker. “They are scarcely a year in the country before they pretend to be equal to our born citizens. I should have no objection to their coming here, provided they would be contented to remain servants,—the only condition, by the by, they are fit for: but when they come without a cent in their pockets, pretending to enjoy the same privileges as our oldest and most respectable citizens, my blood boils with rage; and I would rather live among the Hottentots at the Cape of Good Hope, than in the United States, where every cart-man is as good as myself.”

“I assure you,” said my friend, with a significant smile, “no people in the world are better satisfied of their superiority than the higher classes of Americans. If their pretensions were recognised by the people at large, there would be no happier set of men in the world. There is no species of perfection which they do not attribute to one another: so that one is constantly reminded of the fable of the two asses, one of which found the other an excellent singer, while the latter discovered in the first a great talent for public speaking; the rest of the animals seeing neither the singer nor the orator in either of them. I am at once for an aristocracy like the English, with some lasting, real distinctions. Our patriots have ruined the country by abolishing the institution among us. It would have protected us against the vulgarity of our moneyed men, and produced noblemen instead of fashionable dandies, who are talking of the privileges of gentlemen before they are entitled to the distinction.”

“You are right,” exclaimed the Bostonian, “to ridicule the wooden butterflies that play about our glass-house flowers. No one ever dreamt of mocking the manners of the Dutch merchants. They stick to trade; and, if our merchants were to do the same, they would command the respect of the world, instead of affording amusement by their attempt at aristocratic distinctions. You cannot but esteem Brother Jonathan when you see him on the ocean, or in his workshop; but his affectations in the parlour seldom fail to disgust you. In the salon the most fashionable of our race is but an anomaly, with not one-tenth part the liberality, politeness, and affability of an European. His bow, his smile, his constrained ease, his affected carelessness, his very apparel, and, if he venture himself so far, his conversation, are unnatural; and you are actually moved to compassion when you see him sacrifice himself at a dance. The old people will tell you they give parties for their children; the girls dance because it is the way to get engaged and married; but the young men look upon society as a business they must go through at specified intervals.”

“And yet, mean and contemptible as the elements of our first society may be,” rejoined my Southern friend, “they produce incalculable mischief. In the first place, they are the means of spoiling our women; not that I mean that they destroy their virtue,—which, thank Heaven! is proof against greater temptation than that of our fashionable men, who, moreover, have so little time for the petits soins which the ladies require of them, that they prefer the marrying for good and all to the tedium of a long courtship; but it makes our women indolent, unfit for the performance of domestic duties, and, in many instances, prodigal and sophisticated in the extreme,—and this at an age when Englishwomen scarcely venture out into company. And how small is the number of our fashionable people whose fortunes are at all commensurate with their expensive habits! The country at large is rich, on account of the great ease of our middle and even lower classes; but, in attempting to vie with the splendour of the English nobility, we introduce a reckless system of expenditure, wholly above the means even of our wealthiest people, and undermining the solid basis of our national wealth.”

“Society in America,” continued my friend, “is characterised by a spirit of exclusiveness and persecution unknown in any other country. Its gradations not being regulated according to rank and titles, selfishness and conceit are its principal elements; and its arbitrary distinctions the more offensive, as they principally refer to fortune. Our society takes it upon itself to punish political, moral, and religious dissenters; but most of its wrath is spent upon the champions of democracy. That society is the means of seducing our unsophisticated country members, making them believe that republicanism is only fit for backwoodsmen, is a fact too notorious to be mentioned. It destroys our independence in words and actions, and makes our duties of citizens subordinate to the exactions of a coterie. What man is there in this city that dares to be independent, at the risk of being considered bad company? And who can venture to infringe upon a single rule of society, without being published to the world, and persecuted for the remainder of his life? We take it as an insult offered to our joint judgment when a man stubbornly follows his own mind; for we are accustomed to everything, except seeing a man not influenced by the opinion of his neighbours.

“How often have I envied Englishmen for the privilege of being independent in private life! And how often did I wish myself in England, where I might be permitted to have an opinion of my own, and express it, without suffering in the consideration of my friends and the public! Political liberty is, after all, but an abstract and general good, never felt by individuals, unless it be joined to freedom of intercourse, and that degree of independence which leaves a man in all matters relating to himself sole arbiter of his actions. Intolerance and persecution in private and social intercourse are far more odious, and, perhaps, more destructive to the higher faculties of the mind, than the most systematic political despotism acting from above. And yet I would pardon our society all its faults, if it did not act perniciously on the women.”

“Let us hear what complaint our Anglo-maniac has against our women,” exclaimed the New-Yorker, who had already looked more than twenty times on his watch as if pressed by urgent business.

“Oh!” cried my friend, “my charge against them is small, and refers principally to our exclusives: I am sorry that they are unfit for anything but society, and that in society they do not fill the place which belongs to them.”

“A mere trifle!” said the doctor, filling his glass.

“I do not speak of the great mass of our women,” rejoined my friend; “much less of the wives and daughters of our Western settlers, who, Heaven knows, are as busy and industrious as the best German housewives: what I have to say applies merely to our aristocracy, and still more to those who aspire to being considered candidates for that distinction. Our women in general are, as you know, not brought up to work,—the chivalrous spirit of our men spurning such a vulgar abuse of their delicate limbs; they ought, therefore, to be brought up to save, or at least to live within their income. If, for instance, one of our tavern-keepers will not allow his wife and daughters to appear before his guests,—if a shopkeeper will not exhibit his wife before his customers,—I shall certainly respect the feelings and principles of both: but if the tavern or shopkeeper’s wife insists upon living in Broadway, wearing nothing but satin and gros de Naples, and is constantly emptying her husband’s purse for the purpose of ‘pushing in society;’ if she does not regulate her expenditure according to his means; if she takes no pains to ascertain what these means are; in short, if she be but a useless article of furniture in his parlour,—then I certainly maintain that there is something radically wrong either in her education or in the state of society of which she is a member.

“If we had as many distinct and established orders of society as in England, there would not be that everlasting attempt to go beyond one another which particularly characterises our women, and, joined to the credit system, is the cause of so many failures; a circumstance which, in whatever light merchants and bankers may view it, is nevertheless one of the greatest moral evils with which an honest community can be afflicted.

“A large portion of our matrons,” he continued, “would, I am sure, be more happy in wearing muslin or calico, instead of silk; and the men, instead of racking their brains in order to find the means of providing for a thousand unnecessary expenses, would find their homes cheap and comfortable. They would look upon their wives as friends and counsellors, instead of mere companions of their pleasures. Instead of ‘boarding out,’—a custom which is the grave of affection and domestic happiness,—young husbands would be enabled to keep house, and to give their wives a home; a thing which is not so much rendered difficult by the badness of the servants,—the usual complaint of the higher classes,—as by the exactions of society. I know many an American that is now living in Europe merely because he does not wish to board, and is not rich enough to keep house according to our expensive fashion.

“If this state of things were confined only to the wealthier classes,—to those who have large estates and expectances,—all would be well enough; the extravagance of the rich furnishes scope for the industry of the poor: but with us, where young men without fortunes marry, at the age of twenty-one, girls of eighteen that have no money either, where the husband relies solely on his wits for supporting his wife and children, but few men can indulge themselves in reckless expenditure without growing indifferent as to the ways and means of paying their debts. I am proud of the enterprising spirit of my countrymen, who are always full of speculation and hope,—who live in the future, and care little about the present; but I regret that our fashionable ladies too should have caught the inspiration. A large portion of these, as has been said before, know little or nothing about their husbands’ property; they live in houses built or rented on credit, drive in carriages that are not paid for, wear clothes that are charged by the milliner, sit down to a dinner which stands in the book of the victualler, and finally sink to rest on beds that are settled for by a note of six months. They have no other regulator of their expenses but fashion;—but not the fashions of their own country, grown out of the natural position and the manners and customs of the people; but the fashions of Paris and London, made for a different people,—at least different as regards custom and circumstances;—and are at last as much surprised at the bankruptcies of their husbands as their creditors, who took them for rich men.

“And this evil, as I said before, is not confined to a small class; it extends to all who wish to be considered ‘genteel,’—an appellation which is daily working the most incalculable mischief. In order to be ‘genteel,’ it is necessary, in the first place, to know nobody that is not so; and our fashionable women and girls have a peculiar talent for staring their old friends and acquaintances out of countenance, as often as they take a new house. Next, they must live in a particular part of the town, and pay not less than from one to two thousand dollars’ rent. Then they must give so many parties a year, and not be seen wearing the same dress more than once in a season. And last, though not least, their husbands, brothers, and cousins must give evidence of their good breeding by abusing the republican institutions of their country.

“After they have been ‘genteel’ for a number of years, they are permitted to set up for ‘exclusives;’ for which purpose they must live in the West-end of the town, keep a carriage, claim a relationship with some French duke or British earl,—a colonel in the army or a captain in the navy will no longer answer at that stage,—invite the most distinguished Europeans (by way of hospitality) to their houses, and have their parlours ornamented with pictures in proof of their taste for the fine arts.”

“A-propos!” exclaimed the doctor; “you remind me of my friend Mr. *** in Boston, who commissioned a gentleman of his acquaintance to purchase in Italy ten thousand dollars’ worth of pictures for his parlour. What sort of pictures did he get? I believe you know him, don’t you?”

“He did not want ‘any good ones,’” replied my friend; “for, when Mr. *** offered to purchase half-a-dozen originals, he was quite out of humour about it, telling him that for that money he expected to have all his rooms full. But let me continue my argument.”

“Don’t interrupt him!” vociferated the Bostonian; “he is just labouring under a spell of Southern eloquence.”

“An American exclusive,” resumed my friend, “is not yet a finished ‘aristocrat.’ There are yet a thousand things about him which betray his low origin, or, as the English have it, ‘smell of the shop.’ Though extravagant and wasteful, he has not yet learned to spend his money with ease and gracefulness. The women do not know how to speak French or Italian; and the boys, brought up sometimes at a public school, (for there are few families in the Northern States incurring the expense of a private tutor,) would necessarily imbibe some of the vulgarising spirit of democracy. As a finish then to the education of father, mother, and children, and perhaps, also, to drown in oblivion the tedious particulars of their rise and progress, our highest and best families emigrate for a short time to Europe, in order, in the society of noblemen, to attain that peculiar high polish and suavity of manners which it is impossible to acquire amidst the bustle of business and the vulgar turmoil of elections.

“How our ladies’ hearts beat when they think of Europe and its pleasures!—of the gay and graceful baronets!—the insinuating lords!—the rich, proud earls!—the noble dukes!—and, oh! the kings and princes and their courts! What magic is there in that word ‘King!’ to the mind of a genteel American! and how far will he stoop for the distinction of being admitted into his presence! What privilege, I heard them say, is it to shake hands with the President of the United States?—every blackguard, dressed in boots, can do the same. What honour is there in being present at a levee at the White House in Washington?—every journeyman mechanic may enjoy the same pleasure without even a decent suit of clothes. But a reception at a King’s, or a ball at court, are things to be proud of! They have slandered an American minister at St. Petersburg, by saying that he knelt before the Emperor; but I can assure you that in England Americans have assumed that attitude before the Queen!”

“That’s all right!” ejaculated the doctor; “a man cannot be too humble before a woman; but I do not like to see a Yankee humiliate himself before a King.”

“And in proportion before every duke or earl,” interrupted the Bostonian. “I remember, a year ago, while at Paris, to have called on an American lady who had been honoured by a visit from a distinguished Tory leader in the House of Lords. She felt, of course, the raptures of the blessed during his protracted presence; and when he at last rose to take his leave, and actually vanished through the parlour door, she observed to a young American, who had just been announced and was now entering the room, that the gentleman whom he had met in the entry was actually the famous Lord L——t. ‘Lord L——t!’ exclaimed the youth, sinking into a chair; ‘was it really Lord L——t?’ Here followed a pause of one or two minutes, during which he in vain struggled to recover his senses. ‘And this was Lord L——t!’ cried he, gasping for breath, and running to the window to catch another glimpse of the lord. ‘What an extraordinary man that Lord L——t is! How did you become acquainted with Lord L——t? Won’t you introduce me to Lord L——t?’”

“Such scenes as these are not worth relating,” observed my friend. “They occur every day in every capital of Europe infested by our Yankee exquisites. What I most regret is, that our women are the principal actors that flourish in them. I would rather marry a young Tartar girl, than a fashionable American belle after she has made the tour of Europe. If she was heartless before she left America, she is sure to return marble-ised to her own country. And as for our striplings, who are actually worshipping the feudal institutions of Europe, they come home with signets and coats of arms, and a lordly loathing of republican equality.”

“And this is not only the case with your inexperienced boys and girls,” observed the doctor, sipping his glass; “but applies also to your men of letters, your distinguished orators and philosophers. However fiercely they may extol republican institutions in their writings, they all sink the republican in company with lords and ladies. ‘They know nothing of Berkeley-square, though they fancy it to be inhabited by respectable people;’ but give a long account of the routs in the neighbourhood of Grosvenor-square, and are particularly happy in remembering the country seats of the most distinguished peers of the empire.”

“I grant you all this,” replied my friend; “and yet I would pardon Cooper all his sins that way for the love he once cherished for his country. He has suffered severely for the democracy of his earlier days; for the meanest scribbler for a penny paper in the United States thought himself justified in pouring out his venom on the author of ‘The Pilot.’ He is, after all, the only American that ever poetised American history; the nice, gentlemanly, English-looking Washington Irving has, in his ‘Knickerbocker’s History of New York,’ only raised a laugh at the expense of his country.”

“And yet,” observed the Bostonian, “he might have written the history of every American town, from the famous city of Boston down to the creole habitation of New Orleans, without rising into notice in America, had his works not been endorsed by the British public. No people in the world know better than our first society that they have no taste of their own; and it is for this reason that our poets must first seek a reputation in England, before they can expect one in their own country. Washington Irving had more credit as a merchant than as an author, and succeeded in his writings only after he had failed in business. Without the latter circumstance, which may really be called fortunate, his talents would perhaps never have been developed. But let the Carolinian go on with his aristocracy; he has already kept us over an hour, and, if you continue to interrupt him, he will never finish.”

“I have very little more to say,” said the Southerner; “because the tour of Europe finishes an American aristocrat. He has now been in England, France, and Italy;—he has, with his own eyes, seen the great and mighty upon earth;—he has exchanged visits with some of them, and has perhaps been asked to partake of their hospitality. It is now the business of the women to collect and carefully to preserve the many testimonials of respect which they may have received in the shape of cards, invitations, and letters; in order, on their return to the United States, to prove to the incredulous that they have actually been the fashion in Europe, and that in consequence they have a right to be it in America. They are now advanced to the rank of ‘leading people,’ and an invitation to their houses is as much sought after as a letter of introduction to an European nobleman. ‘They know Lord So-and-so!’ ‘She was quite intimate with Lady So-and-so!’ ‘He stayed a week at the country seat of the Marquis of ***!” ‘She was presented at the Queen’s!’ ‘Both their names were in Galignani’s Messenger!’ ‘She is corresponding with the wife of the Honourable Mr. ***!’ ‘The Duke of *** was quite attentive to her!’ The Prince Royal of *** accompanied her on horseback!’ And a hundred other fine and flattering things are told of them in our fashionable salons; until Mr. and Mrs. *** are not only the fashion, but the envy of every family in Broadway.

“Fortunately for the business habits of our people, they cannot make proselytes among our industrious male population: but our fashionable women, one-half of whom live in boarding-houses, and the other half in houses kept by their servants, are wondrously taken by such accounts of the ‘success of the Americans abroad;’ and exhibit by their unnatural, affected, forced manners, and by the total abjuration of everything American, their solicitude to be governed by the same elevated standard of refinement. On this account many of our women think themselves vastly superior to their husbands; and a certain portion of them actually have a higher standing in society. Hence the thousand incongruities and absurdities you meet with in our fashionable circles; all proving that our people do not act from habit and conviction, but from imitation and precept, and that, consequently, they are always at a loss how to act when they come to a part not contained in their lesson. They will send out invitations to dinner at eight o’clock, merely because this is a good hour in London, deranging thereby not only their own business, but the business of everybody they ask; commence balls and parties at eleven or twelve o’clock, and end them at four in the morning, though at eight they have to be again at their counting-rooms; and visit at an hour when the majority of the people are at dinner. Fashions which are worn in London and Paris in the month of October, are introduced immediately after their arrival here in the beginning of winter. They must have musical soirées without music; thés littéraires without literature; and they must crowd their stair-cases with statues, to show that they have a taste for sculpture. One finds in our fashionable society some feeble, and, for the most part, unsuccessful imitation of everything that exists in Europe, but scarcely one original object as a proof of our national existence: so that, if it were possible to transfer a person directly from some fashionable French or English party to one of our stockholders’ balls in New York, Boston, or Philadelphia, he would scarcely perceive any visible change; though he might consider himself transported from the West-end to the City, or from the Faubourg St. Germain to the neighbourhood of La Bourse.”

“Pass the bottle!” cried the doctor; “I believe he has finished his long speech.”

“I have a word to say now,” interposed the Bostonian; “I must wind up my argument with regard to our women as compared to the English.”

“Is he a ‘hard’ speaker?” inquired the New-Yorker.

“He isn’t quite equal to the member from Massachusetts,” replied my Southern friend, “who spoke seven hours in succession against time; but, before he continues, I must ask him whether he has seen Mrs. ***’s tableaux vivants. I believe she had some highly classical representations the other evening.”

“Just so,” said the doctor; “in which her daughter made the Sphinx, and Mr.***, the Wall-street shaver, the Numidian lion.”

“Capital!” ejaculated the Bostonian; “but I refer to no individual in particular—I only speak of the absurd tastes of our fashionable women in general. I would ask, by way of finishing the picture which our friend from Carolina so happily commenced, and in order to settle the question of reckless expenditure, on which you all seem to exhaust your eloquence, how many of those that belong to our fashionable society can afford its expenses without impairing their estates?—how many of them would be able to continue them without the assistance of credit?—and how many of them, if their estates were to be settled to-morrow, would be able to pay fifty cents in a dollar? I am accustomed to bring everything down to figures. We at the North are a practical people: we like to calculate.”

Here the New York gentleman took out his watch, and, pretending to be in a great hurry, abruptly left the room.

“Do you think he is solvent?” said the doctor drily, emptying his glass.

“Not I,” replied the Bostonian. “Out of fifty persons that commence business in Boston, forty-nine are supposed to fail within the first five years; it takes them that long to learn the trade: and we boast of doing business on a solid capital in comparison to the New-Yorkers. But they beat us all hollow in the way of credit; our most cunning brokers in State-street are nothing in comparison to a regular Wall-street shaver. But let me come to the point. Our fashionable people are prodigal of other people’s money; and, in entertaining their guests, go to the extent to which they are trusted. Take, for instance, the case of one of our pushing retail dealers. He is, of course, a married man, and has one or two partners who are also married. Each of them lives in a house for which he pays not less than six hundred dollars’ rent, and the furniture of which costs from three to four thousand dollars. Each of them keeps one male and one or two female servants, and, in short, supports his wife as a lady. Each of them must ask people to tea, each must give dinners to his friends, and all ‘push to get into society.’ Suppose these men to do business on their own capital,—a thing which does not occur once in fifty cases; and let us suppose that their joint stock in trade is worth a hundred thousand dollars; let us take for granted that, deducting losses and bad debts, they realise a clear profit of ten per cent. on their capital; and I can prove to you that, in the ordinary course of things, they must be bankrupts in a few years. What, then, are we to expect of the generality of our young men, who commence business with a borrowed capital, on which they pay from six to eight per cent. interest?”

“Let him figure it out!” cried the doctor,—“let him figure it out! he is a Yankee.”

“With all my heart,” said the Bostonian, “if you will only promise not to interrupt me.”

“Suppose the borrowed capital to consist of one hundred thousand dollars?

Dollars.
“Then the interest, at six per cent. would amount to6,000
“Store rent, say1,200
“Two clerks with a salary of 300 dollars per annum600
“Insurance on stock1,000
“House rent for two partners, each 600 dollars1,200
“Expenses of housekeeping, interest on furniture, servants, &c. each 2500 dollars5,000
“Ladies’ dresses, parties, carriage hire, and incidental expenses, say each 1000 dollars2,000
“Gentlemen’s dresses, horse hire, newspapers, and tobacco, say each 500 dollars1,000
“Grand sum total18,000
“Clear profit on 100,000 dollars’ worth of stock (deducting 25 per cent. bad debts), say 10 per cent.10,000
“Deficit8,000

“Pray, what ruins these men, but the want of domestic economy in their own households? An English shopkeeper would be content to live in a house for which he would not pay more than from fifty to sixty pounds’ rent. His carpets would be Kidderminster, instead of Brussels or Turkey. His wife would require no other servant but a cook or a kitchen-girl; and would no more dream of giving parties, or vieing with the splendour of merchants and bankers, than she would of bringing up her children to match the peers of the empire. This is the advantage a shopkeeper has who marries an English girl. He gets, at least, a wife that wears well,—a substantial housekeeper, that administers to his comfort, and assists him in laying up a penny for rainy days. If her husband dies, she is, for the most part, capable of continuing his business, and making an honest living for her children. With all the morality, virtue, and beauty of our women, they are but helpless creatures. The wife of one of our young ‘merchants of respectability’ requires more waiting than, in proportion to her rank, an English peeress; and, ten chances to one, does not even understand superintending her servants. Her husband, in addition to ten or twelve hours’ hard labour at his counting-room, has to take care of his household, in which he is intrusted with the several important and honourable functions of steward, butler, groom, footman, and housemaid; while the education of the children is only at the extreme North and South—in New England and in the Southern States—superintended personally by the mother.

“One of our fashionable young women,—innocent, kind, gay, handsome, beautiful, as she may be,—is after all of no use whatever to a poor man who has to work for his living; except that, by trebling his expenditure, she is a most powerful stimulus to industry and enterprise. If he fail in business, or die without providing for her and her children, she has no other means of saving herself from starvation than that of opening a boarding-house; which is generally so ill managed, that in less than a year she is involved in debt, and sees her furniture brought to the hammer.

“As long as our young merchants get rich by speculations, or have their notes shaved by a Wall-street broker at the rate of one per cent. a month, they may be right in marrying those dear little objects of care and caresses; but when, at some future day, wealth will become the reward of labour and frugality, our ‘respectable young men’ will be obliged to select their wives for the kitchen as well as the parlour. All I can say in favour of our fashionable women is, that they do more for the settlement of the Western country than the soil, climate and the cheapness of land.”

“And what is most remarkable,” interrupted my friend, “is, that those very women, after they have resided a year or two in the Western States, become, by the strong force of example, and perhaps also from dire necessity, real Dutch housewives.”

“That is to say,” observed the Bostonian, “they scrub their own floors, clean the door-handles, wash the windows, sweep the rooms, make themselves busy in the kitchen, and walk about with children in their arms; all which, I can assure you, is done by the women of the best society in the Western States without destroying either their health or good looks. Women there are obliged to work, because they cannot find servants to do the work for them; and yet they are infinitely happier than your New York or Philadelphia ladies, who rise at eight or nine, breakfast at ten,—then, as Miss Fanny Kemble would have it, potter three or four hours,—then have a chat with three or four women of their set,—then walk Broadway or Chesnut-street, or go shopping,—then sit down to dinner,—then potter again until six o’clock,—then take tea,—and finally dress for a party, at which, unless they be very young, they stick up against the wall until supper.”

“I certainly wish for a medium between the extreme hardships of American women in the Western country, and their comparative indolence in the seaports,” observed my friend; “and yet I am glad that the republican spirit of the West is opposed to servitude of any kind, for it is a great corrective of our vulgar aristocracy of money. If, in the Western States, you could at all times command a sufficient number of hands, the possession of large real estates would soon lay the foundation of an aristocracy much more substantial and durable than that which effervesces on our seaboard. The human heart, after all, is aristocratic—that is, selfish—by nature; so that, if the resistance of the lower classes does not check the aggressions of the higher ones, the latter are sure eventually to get possession of the government. The Western settlers, who are obliged to work, and their wives, who must themselves superintend their households, have not even the time necessary for forming those exclusive coteries which govern society in the Atlantic cities.”

“And yet,” said the Bostonian, “it is not more than a year ago that I heard the wife of a Pittsburg lawyer complain of the state of their society, which was ‘dreadfully’ spoiled by the number of adventurers pouring in from the Eastern States.”

“Capital!” cried my friend; “the probability is she herself was but settled a few years.”

“That was precisely her case,” rejoined the Bostonian; “and, while she was playing the old family of the place, she wiped her children’s noses with her apron.”

“Now, I like that kind of aristocracy,” cried the doctor, “which is obliged to wipe babies’ noses, and that kind of family which is considered ancient when it has been three years stationary in a place; for it affords the surest proof that the true elements out of which an aristocracy may be formed are not yet to be found in the country.”

“You are out again,” cried the Bostonian. “You Englishmen, for some reason or other, never understand the particular genius of our people. We have ‘lots’ of aristocracy in our country, cheap, and plenty as bank-bills and credit, and equally subject to fluctuation. To-day it is worth so much,—to-morrow more or less,—and, in a month, no one will take it on any terms. We have, in fact, at all times, a vast deal of aristocracy; the only difficulty consists in retaining it. Neither is the position of our aristocrats much to be envied. Amidst the general happiness and prosperity of our people, their incessant cravings after artificial distinctions are never satisfied; they are a beggarly set of misers that will not sit down to dinner as long as there is a stranger present whom they are obliged to ask; and, as for the women, their position is truly deplorable. They are neither employed in domestic pursuits, nor does our society furnish them the agrémens of Europe. In a country whose population is the most active and industrious in the world, they are troubled with ennui, and have the whole livelong day no other companions than a few inquisitive creatures of their own sex. Were our women more engaged in the pursuits of active life,—were our state of society such as to offer them a more extended sphere of influence and usefulness,—did they receive less homage as women, and more as rational accountable beings, their aristocratic squeamishness would soon yield to a more sensible appreciation of character, and a patriotic attachment to their country.”

“The same aristocratic feeling which pervades our fashionable women, operates also on our girls in the lower walks of life,” observed the Southerner; “only that it is there called ‘independence.’ Now, I like independence in men, but I despise it in women. The dependence of women on men is the proper tie between the sexes, and the strong basis of gallantry and chivalry. I dislike your ‘independent factory girls,’ though they did turn out six hundred strong, all dressed in white, to be reviewed by General Jackson.”[3]

“Since you mention the ‘independent factory girls,’ you ought not to forget the girls of our independent press,” observed the Bostonian.

“What sort of girls are those?” demanded my friend.

“They are employed as compositors and pressmen in our printing-offices,” replied the Bostonian, “reducing the wages of our journeymen printers, and preparing themselves for housekeeping by composing the works of our best authors. I know two of them who became expert cooks by composing ‘The Frugal Housewife,’ by Mrs. Child; and a third prepared herself for her approaching marriage by setting up ‘The Mother’s Book.’ These girls, you must know, are distinguished by a highly aristocratic feeling; and would no more condescend to speak to one of our waiting-women, than the wife of a president of an insurance-office would deign to leave a card for the poor consort of a professor in one of our colleges. They dress and act as ladies; and, if you do not believe their claims to ‘gentility,’ they will show them to you in print.”

“It is not more than a month ago, that, while in Washington, I had occasion to call at the office of one of my friends who is an editor of a daily paper. Not finding him there, I entered the press-room, where, much to my surprise, I found three pretty girls, dressed as if they had been measured by Madame Victorine, and in bonnets corresponding to the last fashion of the Rue Vivienne, busily engaged in multiplying the speeches of our orators and statesmen. This, however, was done in the most dignified manner; for when I asked for the master of the establishment, where I could find him, when he would be in, &c. one of them, in lieu of an answer, merely pointed to a large placard stuck to one of the columns which supported the ceiling, on which there was the following peremptory request, printed in gigantic letters:—

“‘Gentlemen are requested not to stand and look about,—because the ladies don’t like it.’”

“And did you then immediately leave the room?” inquired the doctor.

“I had no other alternative,” replied the Bostonian: “if I had remained one minute longer, there would have been an article against me in next morning’s paper. This is a sort of trades’ aristocracy formed by the female part of our population; for such seems to be the disgust of our girls for domestic occupation, that they will rather become tailoresses, printers, bookbinders, or work at a manufactory, than degrade themselves by ‘living out.’[4] And yet I am bound to say they maintain their aristocratic dignity better than many a stockholder’s wife and daughters; and I have never known a single instance in which they did not completely succeed in keeping their fellow-workmen in subjection and at a proper distance.”

“This deserves a sentiment,” cried the doctor; “let us call on our friend from Massachusetts to propose one.”

“With all my heart, gentlemen,” said the Boston lawyer. “I give you ‘The Young Ladies’ Trades’ Union, and their champion Mr. C——y of Philadelphia: may they never reduce the price of labour of their fellow-workmen, but rather succeed in raising their own!’”

“Bravo!” shouted the company; “and worth as much again, coming from such a source. Old C——y himself could not have proposed a nobler sentiment. Pity it won’t be published; it would make him immensely popular!”

“Pray, don’t pass him the bottle,” cried my friend; “he is done up for to-day. I never knew a Bostonian to talk of raising the price of labour except when he was drunk.”

“Nor I either,” cried the doctor. “I always heard them boast that no Jew could live amongst them, because they cheated him.”

“Then let us vote him drunk, and fine him an extra bottle,” said the doctor.

“He will never forgive you that,” observed my friend.

“Call for the wine,” cried the Bostonian; “call for it instantly,—we must drink it on the spot.”

“We shall not have time for it,” observed my friend; “for, if we do not quit this very moment, the negroes will drive us away in order to set the table for tea.”

“You touched the bright side of his character,” whispered the doctor to my friend as he was slowly rising from the table. “He has the most irresistible aversion to spending money; but, when caught in a trap like this, I don’t know a person who can affect so much generosity.”