“Certainly not,” said one of my companions, who had stopped to survey the beauty of the landscape; “yet how many Americans do you think enjoy it?”
“It is certainly not a very fashionable place,” said I.
“How could it be?” replied he: “all the fashionable people have moved to the West-end of the town.”
“Where the atmosphere is not half so pure, the breeze not a quarter so refreshing as here; and where, instead of this glorious harbour,—this ocean, the emblem of eternity,—they see nothing but sand,—a barren desert, interspersed here and there by a block of brick buildings,” added the other.
“This our people imagine to be a successful imitation of English taste,” observed the first. “They forget that the West-end of London contains magnificent squares and public walks; and that it is in the immediate neighbourhood of the Parks.”
“And yet,” said the other, “if to-morrow the Southwark and all the boroughs east of the Thames were to get into fashion, our New York aristocracy would imitate the example, and inhabit once more this beautiful site.”
“It is true,” resumed I, “this imitation of the English is not a very happy one; and deserves the more to be ridiculed, as it refers merely to forms, and not to the substance of things. I am in a habit of taking a stroll here every evening; but have not, for the space of two months, met with a single individual known in the higher circles. Foreigners are the only persons who enjoy this spot.”
“And do you know why?” interrupted one of my friends: “it is because our fashionable Americans do not wish to be seen with the people; they dread that more than the tempest; and it is for this reason all that is really beautiful in the United States is considered vulgar. The people follow their inclination, and occupy that which they like; while our exclusives are obliged to content themselves with what is abandoned by the crowd.”
“I am not very sorry for that,” said the second; “our exclusives deserve no better fate. As long as the aristocracy of a country is willing to associate with the educated classes of the bourgeoisie they set a premium on talent and the example of good breeding. This aristocracy here is itself nothing but a wealthy overgrown bourgeoisie, composed of a few families who have been more successful in trade than the rest, and on that account are now cutting their friends and relations in order to be considered fashionable.”
Here we heard the ringing of the bell for the departure of the hourly steam-boat for Staten Island. As we intended to join a small party to breakfast at “the Pavilion,” we quickly hurried on board, and in less than a minute were floating on the water. A fine brass band was stationed on deck, and the company consisted of a great number of pretty women with their attendant swains, who thus early escaped from the heat of the city in order to return to it at shopping-time,—from twelve till two o’clock. A few lonely “females,” only protected by huge baskets filled with provisions, had also come “to enjoy the concord of sweet sounds,” and a trip down the harbour for a quarter of a dollar, previous to returning home from the market. The whole company were in excellent spirits, the basket-ladies being arranged on one side,—unfortunately, however, to windward,—and the ladies and gentlemen on the other, the band playing involuntary variations to the tune of “Auld lang syne.”