The Philadelphians maintain that their oyster-cellars are by far the most elegant, the most costly, and the most select in point of company, of any in the United States; which, they say, must strike any one who will take the trouble of spending the hours from ten in the evening till one in the morning in one of the splendid subterraneous vaults of that sort in Chesnut-street. “Not only,” say the Philadelphians, “would he be astonished at the taste and splendour of all the arrangements,—at the vastness, and even magnificence of the rooms, the excellence of the wines, &c.—but also at the number of respectable young men, sons of the first families, who, by their nightly presence, give a high ton to these establishments. An oyster-cellar may, indeed, be considered as a school for good breeding; and is, in a singularly felicitous manner, emblematic of the happiness, quiet, and self-sufficiency of the peaceable inhabitants of the city ‘of brotherly love.’ Besides, the oyster-cellars in Philadelphia are mostly kept by white men; which fact would of itself be sufficient to establish their superiority over the negro and mulatto establishments of that kind in the comparatively dirty city of New York.”
Hereupon the New-Yorkers remark “that the company which frequent their oyster-cellars, though perhaps not quite so respectable and numerous in the evening, is nevertheless a great deal more so in day-time; that the Philadelphia company is often mixed, and in some instances absolutely vulgar, owing to the low price of oysters; whereas in New York, where good oysters cannot be procured for less than 37¹⁄₂ cents (equal to about 1s. 6d.) a dozen, loafers (this is the American term for blackguards) are completely excluded, and sent to the more plebeian beef-shops. As regards the stigma of having their oyster-shops kept by negroes and mulattoes, it is to be observed that of late a number of ‘clever white men’ have taken that lucrative business out of the hands of the Africans, by whom it has been too long degraded, and introduced a series of improvements in every respect worthy of the high reputation which distinguishes New York among her sister cities.”
But there is one point in which the New-Yorkers have an immeasurable advantage over the Philadelphians,—an advantage which proves their city as much superior to Philadelphia as Paris is to a country town of France, or London to a rotten borough; viz. the New York oyster-cellars remain open until three or four in the morning, whereas the Philadelphians close theirs very soon after one: a custom which is vulgar and provincial in the extreme; and prevents many a gentleman, who has made but an indifferent supper at a party, from procuring himself the gratification of the nightmare.
These preliminaries, I think, will be sufficient to introduce the gentle reader to the sort of establishment towards which my friend and I were now wending our way. The city hall clock had long ago struck the hour of one; the crowd, which till late in the evening renders Broadway a scene of busy activity, had dispersed to their respective homes; and the inhabitants of the great commercial emporium of the New World actually appeared to have gone to rest for the night; when, on approaching the Café de l’Indépendance, the mingled sound of voices and instruments convinced us that a certain portion of the Americans at least were in the habit of keeping later hours than even the Parisians.[11]
“Let us look in,” proposed my friend. “It’s quite a nice establishment. The furniture alone cost more than fifty thousand dollars.”
“Is it not too late?” demanded I. “I thought I heard you say you wanted some oysters: will they not shut up in the mean time?”
“No danger of that,” replied he: “the oyster-cellars of this city are on the plan of the early breakfast houses in London; they give you a supper or a breakfast, whichever you please.”
On entering the coffee-room, we found ourselves enveloped in a dense cloud of smoke, which at first prevented us from discerning the corps of German musicians that were regaling a motley group of Europeans and Americans with some of the best compositions of their countrymen. In justice to the Americans, I am bound to say that nine-tenths of the whole company present were foreigners,—principally Frenchmen and Spaniards, who seemed to be very little afflicted with home-sickness,—enjoying, perhaps for the first time in their lives, their petit verre and cigar without the surveillance of the haute police, or the disagreeable intrusion of some municipal guards.
“These Frenchmen,” said my friend, “cannot be happy without cafés and estaminets. Deprive them of their demi-tasse, their petit verre, and their partie de domino, and you set them at once in a state of rebellion; and yet I never saw a place in which they appear to be more at home than in New York.”
“I have heard it said this morning that a Frenchman would rather live in New York than in any town of France, except Paris.”