Forget all about it, except that I went about the town with Colonel ——.
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went to see his Quaker wife, whom I liked very much.
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Drove all about New-York, which more than ever reminded me of the towns in France: passed the Bowery theatre, which is a handsome finely-proportioned building, with a large brazen eagle plastered on the pediment, for all the world like an insurance mark, or the sign of the spread eagle: this is nefarious! We passed a pretty house, which Colonel —— called an old mansion; mercy on me, him, and it! Old! I thought of Warwick Castle, of Hatfield, of Chequers, of Hopwood—old! and there it stood, with its white pillars and Italian-looking portico, for all the world like one of our own cit's yesterday-grown boxes. Old, quotha! the woods and waters and hills and skies alone are old here; the works of men are in the very greenness and unmellowed imperfection of youth: true, 'tis a youth full of vigorous sap and glorious promise; spring, laden with blossoms, foretelling abundant and rich produce, and so let them be proud of it. But the worst of it is, the Americans are not satisfied with glorying in what they are,—which, considering the time and opportunities they have had, is matter of glory quite sufficient,—they are never happy without comparing this their sapling to the giant oaks of the old world,—and what can one say to that? Is New-York like London? No, by my two troths it is not; but the oak was an acorn once, and New York will surely, if the world holds together long enough, become a lordly city, such as we know of beyond the sea.
Went in the evening to see Wallack act the Brigand; it was his benefit, and the house was very good. He is perfection in this sort of thing, yet there were one or two blunders even in his melo-dramatic acting of this piece; however, he looks very like the thing, and it is very nice to see—once.
Saturday, 15th.
Sat stitching all the blessed day. So we are to go to Philadelphia before Boston. I'm sorry. The H——s will be disappointed, and I shall get no riding, che seccatura! At five dressed, and went to the ——, where we were to dine. This is one of the first houses here, so I conclude that I am to consider what I see as a tolerable sample of the ways and manners of being, doing, and suffering of the best society in New York. There were about twenty people; the women were in a sort of French demi-toilette, with bare necks, and long sleeves, heads frizzed out after the very last Petit Courier, and thread net handkerchiefs and capes; the whole of which, to my English eye, appeared a strange marrying of incongruities. The younger daughter of our host is beautiful; a young and brilliant likeness of Ellen Tree, with more refinement, and a smile that was, not to say a ray, but a whole focus of sun rays, a perfect blaze of light; she was much taken up with a youth, to whom, my neighbour at dinner informed me, she was engaged.
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The women here, like those of most warm climates, ripen very early, and decay proportionably soon. They are, generally speaking, pretty, with good complexions, and an air of freshness and brilliancy, but this, I am told, is very evanescent; and whereas, in England, a woman is in the full bloom of health and beauty from twenty to five-and-thirty, here they scarcely reach the first period without being faded and looking old.[15] They marry very young, and this is another reason why age comes prematurely upon them. There was a fair young thing at dinner to-day who did not look above seventeen, and she was a wife. As for their figures, like those of French women, they are too well dressed for one to judge exactly what they are really like: they are, for the most part, short and slight, with remarkably pretty feet and ankles; but there's too much pelerine and petticoat, and "de quoi" of every sort, to guess any thing more.