FAMILIAR LETTERS
From an Englishman in this country to his Friend at home.
(Communicated for the Rural Magazine.)
No. II.
Philada. Sept. 16, 1819.
My Dear G.
You know how very apt persons are to form an opinion of other persons with whom accident or design makes them acquainted, either on the very wise principles of Lavater, or the still wiser principles of Doctor—what's his name—(I wish I could forget as easily the labour I lost in studying him)—who first conceived craniology. You know also that I had every predisposition to the study of both these abstruse sciences, and the consequent deductions; so you will not be much surprised when I tell you that I have employed the time that has elapsed since the date of my last, in observing the physiognomy of Philadelphia. I did this, before I trespassed on the good-will, the hospitality, or the politeness of any of its citizens. You will observe I am perfectly distinct in my classification, and I beg of you to remember this, when you peruse any of my rambling epistles hereafter. My letters would, I hope, have commanded the civil attention of any person to whom they were addressed, independent of any particular kindness to which the recommendation of our venerable Quaker friend D—— of London would on the principle of reciprocity entitle me. But before I penetrated like Asmodeus in "Le Diable Boiteaux," into the domestic circle, the parlour, the halls, the tables, or the toilettes, or (shall I say it) to the counter and the desk. I wished to see the roofs, at least, if I could not see through them. So for the last week I have been studying physiognomies. There can be no need of apology to you my friend, who, (Heaven be praised) have never had occasion to leave the precincts of your ancient patrimony for any thing but pleasure, for dilating on a city that so far as it regards myself, has hitherto been on a par with Herculaneum or Pompeia. Some manuscripts and some printed accounts I have seen, but like those saved from the lava of Vesuvius, they were hardly worth unfolding. Indeed, I always pitied poor Sir Humphrey for so incomprehensible a task. He had better have staid at home, and made experiments in separating the brick and mortar from the old ruins lord L—— boasts of having been in his family, at the smallest calculation from William Rufus. I do wonder what it could have been that the ancients took such care of.
Well—I have seen Philadelphia.—And if it were not for the dull monotony of its right angles—the wide streets that throw such an immense space between your lodgings and any desired object—the want of all the cries I have been used to in all the popular cities I have frequented, except, indeed, the solitary halloo of a sweep, (and then only before one gets up in a morning) and the everlasting gong that wakes me from my sweetest slumber, and dreams of home, with all its indefinable attractions, I would say that Philadelphia was a very decent, orderly, well arranged, and handsome city. But give me Hogarth's line of beauty; I hate your everlasting parallels that run together to infinity, and never unite. By the way I am told that I shall be amply gratified in this respect in New York and Boston. There is only one street in this city, called Dock street, that is entitled to any claim to my fancy; and that is too broad, and nobody lives in it—all shops and warehouses.
The weather is remarkably fine,—every body complains of a want of rain:—for my part I must confess I had enough at home; and if I must find fault with the climate, it is too hot. Yet I do not find the lassitude I expected, consequent on exercise in the open air. Notwithstanding a mid-day sun, that in England we should have thought intolerable, a young gentleman with whom I formed an acquaintance at our excellent hotel, prevailed upon me to take a promenade along the Philadelphia Bond street, which here is denominated Chesnut street. We saw some mansions that would not have disgraced one of our fashionable squares;—some ladies that would have honoured the very first equipage that sports in Hyde Park. Only a few could boast of our Saxon complexion; but their forms were cast in a superior mould;—this I apprehend is aboriginal—and although I cannot learn that any are willing to acknowledge their derivation from the native Indians, several circumstances induce me to believe there has been a greater mixture with the first occupants of this vast continent than has been generally supposed. But more of this hereafter—if in my contemplated visit next summer to the falls of Niagara, I should meet with some of the deer skinned heroes and heroines of this western hemisphere. I have laid all those of the sock and buskin on the shelf, and am enthusiast enough to expect perfection among the savages of North America. Why should I not? Through all the obloquy that has been thrown upon them by their ruthless despoilers,
"More savage still than they,"
through all that inveteracy of feeling which those who injure universally entertain—and "they who injure never pardon," you may still find a confession, or rather an admission of their virtues and their talents, of their magnanimity of character, and their elevation of soul. Not merely that indifference to privation and bodily suffering which we have been taught, was characteristic of savage life, but in spite of the natural principle of retaliation and revenge, (and I will maintain that it is a natural principle) they have evinced that virtue which the Bible has never taught many of us who have had access to it—forgiveness of our enemies.
Do not, however, think that I have lost myself in the interminable forests which still remain to the original proprietors of this continent—or that I have assumed the rifle and the moccasin. I should even prefer taking up my residence in this place which you know we have always considered one of the advanced posts in the march of civilization. It is true I have not yet descended from the roofs as aforesaid, to see what kind of an animal a Philadelphian really is in his own family circle, and shall have to defer a picture of this non-descript till opportunity of observation occurs. I have as yet seen only the outside. I have seen the Pennsylvania hospital externally; I have seen the figure of old William Penn standing like a good old fashioned broad brimmed sentinel before the door of the edifice, like all sentries exposed to the wind and the weather, with his head as it were drooping over the fine hot-house plants that surround him. But a bronze statue of the old gentleman I must confess seemed rather outre, although he richly deserved an equipment in that same costume from the perseverance which history tells us he evinced in the strife with the bailiffs that beset him in our old island. But let that pass; I would consent to be surrounded by tipstaves all my life to leave such a character as he did behind.—I have seen the Academy of Fine Arts, most modestly retiring from public view, behind a range of buildings that some of the cits have unconscionably erected on the front of the street, thus clearly evincing their disposition, to use the words of my Chesnut street friend, to throw the fine arts in the back ground. By the way the good people here are said to be (by the New Yorkers at least) most intolerably given to punning, and I must admit that some of the gentlemen who attend our excellent ordinary, have put off a few attempts at that vile species of wit, of a most contemptible character. I should, however, be very sorry to pass an opinion on the whole genus by the few specimens I have seen. Philadelphia is really a very handsome city; yet to take a panoramic view of it, you would be exceedingly disappointed. There are no steeples, or rather there is one, and that a very decent one—the architecture of which is by no means contemptible; but then there is but one steeple in a city of upwards of fifteen thousand houses, principally constructed of brick. If there were only a standard or ensign appended to its spire, which is about 200 feet from the ground, and that standard in proportion to its height, this goodly town would look like one grand encampment. Few of the houses exceed three stories, of about ten or twelve feet each. The city is however, flanked by two shot towers, one in the southeast, the other in the northwestern extremity; which afford some relief to the dead uniformity in the general aspect of the town. How successful the proprietors of these said towers may have been in the pursuit of their vocation, I know not; but for ornament to this place, I would not give one steeple, like that which is bottomed in the good old diocesan episcopal church for a thousand of them.
You see I have obeyed the injunction laid on me at parting, to express every thing as it presented itself to my observation, but in nothing can you find more sincerity of feeling than when I assure you neither time nor distance has diminished the warmth of affection with which I continue to be your friend.