The Author of these pages seems to have made it his study to bring those hidden gems to light, in order to vindicate his adopted country from the reproach of equality and barbarism, indiscriminately heaped upon it by the Tories of all countries, and especially by the great Tories of England.
Before entering on the task assigned me, it is, however, necessary first to acquaint the reader with the personage of the Author, who was once a sporting character; but is now a sedate, moral, religious man, scarcely to be told from a real American. Although of noble extraction, being the seventh son of the Westphalian Baron Von K—pfsch—rtz, whose family dates back to the eighth century, he has, while in the United States, sunk the nobleman in the man of business; in consequence of which he now passes generally for “a sensible man.” Had he been born and bred in America, and inherited or acquired a large fortune, his being descended from a noble family might have added to his other accomplishments; but the pedigree of a poor German nobleman without a rent-roll could not possibly do him any good, and might have done him much harm in raising the jealousy of his employers.
For a time he devoted himself to politics, in which he was a great enthusiast, but soon discovered his error; and, finding winds and waves more steady than the favours of the public, became supercargo of an American East Indiaman. He stayed three years in Canton, and on his return married the daughter of the president of an insurance office—the young lady having fallen in love with him at a party,—notwithstanding the remonstrances of the family, who considered the match a poor one. He has since had two children by his wife, and a clerkship by his father in-law; all which, taken together, has done much to attach him to the country, and will, I doubt not, in due time make him “a patriot.”
I must yet observe that the following “sketches” were written during the Author’s political career, and shortly after; it being agreed between him and his father-in-law, at the time of his marriage, that he should never again use a pen except for the benefit of the office, or to write a letter to his beau-père, provided he be willing to frank it. This promise I understood him to have religiously kept, as indeed every other he made at that time; but, feeling all the while some lurking desire to see himself in print, he thought it no harm to touch up an old manuscript, which he was determined secretly to put into my hands, in order that I might select from it what I judged fit for publication. The way in which he accomplished his design, and the charge he gave me, are important items; which, as they are brief, I shall not withhold from the public.
It was in the month of August last year, that, early in the morning of a sultry day, while sauntering along the wide and dirty streets of New York, I was, just at the corner of Chamber Street and Broadway, struck by the singular appearance of a male figure, which I at once recognised as European, though the individual in question had apparently taken the most studied pains to disguise his origin. His stature was straight and erect; his neck, already thin and stiff, was, by the aid of a black cravat, reduced to a still narrower compass; and his hat was sunk down his neck so as to expose half his forehead. His frock-coat, despite the heat of the day, was buttoned up to the chin, and yet of such diminutive dimensions as scarcely to cover any one part of his body. His trowsers were of the same tight fit as his coat, and the heels of his boots added at least an inch and a half to his natural height. His steps were short and quick, deviating neither to the right nor left from a straight line; and his head, which was thrown back, seemed to act as a rudder in directing his motion. Thus far, his appearance differed in nothing from a genuine New-Yorker, except that his shoulders were very much broader, and his legs much more stout, than one generally meets with on the borders of the Atlantic.
I seldom saw an European imitate exactly the particular business-dress and gait of an American; and in this instance the copy appeared to me so burlesque, that I felt curious to see the full face of a man whose body bore such evident imprints of two worlds. I therefore stepped quickly forward a few paces, and, leaning against the window of a print-shop, endeavoured to take a front view of my hero. He seemed to guess my intention, and, desirous of avoiding observation, turned his head towards the opposite side; which, however, did not prevent me from recognising at once my friend the Author, with a large roll of paper in his hand.
“Ah!” exclaimed he, grasping my arm, “I am glad to meet you,—the very man I wanted to see. Whither are you now going?”
“To breakfast.”
“Are you invited?”
“Not that I know of.”