It was a well known saying of Jefferson’s, that great cities were great sores. “In proportion,” says Montesquieu, “to the populousness of towns, the inhabitants are filled with notions of vanity, and actuated by an ambition of distinguishing themselves, by trifles. If they are very numerous, and most of them strangers to one another, their vanity redoubles, because there are greater hopes of success.” According to the apothegm of Franklin, it is the eyes of others, and not our own, that destroy us.
“Every body agrees,” says Mandeville in his Fable of the Bees, i. 98, “that, as to apparel and manner of living, we ought to behave ourselves suitable to our conditions, and follow the example of the most sensible and prudent, among our equals in rank and fortune; yet how few, that are not either universally covetous, or else proud of singularity, have this discretion to boast of? We all look above ourselves, and, as fast as we can, strive to imitate those that, some way or other, are superior to us.”
“The poorest laborer’s wife in the parish, who scorns to wear a strong wholesome frize, will half starve herself and her husband, to purchase a second-hand gown and petticoat, that cannot do her half the service, because, forsooth, it is more genteel. The weaver, the shoemaker, the tailor, the barber, has the impudence, with the first money he gets, to dress himself like a tradesman of substance; the ordinary retailer, in the clothing of his wife, takes pattern from his neighbor, that deals in the same commodity by wholesale, and the reason he gives for it is, that, twelve years ago, the other had not a bigger shop than himself. The druggist, mercer, and draper, can find no difference, between themselves and merchants, and therefore dress and live like them. The merchant’s lady, who cannot bear the assurance of those mechanics, flies for refuge to the other end of the town, and scorns to follow any fashion, but what she takes from thence. This haughtiness alarms the court—the women of quality are frightened to see merchants’ wives and daughters dressed like themselves. This impudence of the city, they cry, is intolerable; mantua-makers are sent for; and the contrivance of fashions becomes all their study, that they may have always new modes ready to take up, as soon as those saucy cits shall begin to imitate those in being. The same emulation is contrived through the several degrees of quality, to an incredible expense; till, at last, the prince’s great favorites, and those of the first rank, having nothing else left, to outstrip some of their inferiors, are forced to lay out vast estates in pompous equipages, magnificent furniture, sumptuous gardens, and princely palaces.”
Like an accommodating almanac, the description of Mandeville is applicable to other meridians, than that, for which it was especially designed.
The history of all, that passes in the bosom of a proud man, unrestrained by fixed religious and moral principles, during his transition from affluence to poverty, must be a very edifying history. With such an individual the fear of God is but a pack-thread, against the unrelaxing, antagonist muscle of pride. The only Hades, of which he has any dread, is that abyss of obscurity and poverty, in which a man is condemned to abide, who falls from his high estate, among the upper ten thousand. What plans, what projects, what infernal stratagems occasionally bubble up, in the overheated crucible! Magnanimity, and honor, and humanity, and justice are unseen—unfelt. The dust of self-interest has blinded his eyes—the pride of life has hardened his heart.
If the energies of such men are not mischievously employed, they are, at best, utterly lost to the community.
No. LXXXIX.
I noticed, in a late, English paper, a very civil apology from Sheriff Calcraft, for not hanging Sarah Thomas, at Bristol, as punctually as he ought, on account of a similar engagement, with another lady, at Norwich. The hanging business seems to be looking up with us, as the traders say of their cotton and molasses; though, in England, it has fallen off prodigiously. According to Stowe, seventy-two thousand persons were executed there, in one reign, that of Henry VIII. That, however, was a long reign, of thirty-eight years. Between 1820 and 1830, there were executed, in England alone, seven hundred and ninety-seven convicts. But we must remember, for what trifles men were formerly executed there, which here were at no time, capital offences. According to authentic records, the decrease of executions in London, since 1820, is very remarkable. Haydn, in his Dictionary of Universal Reference, p. 205, gives the ratio of nine years, as follows—1820, 43—1825, 17—1830, 6—1835, none—1836, none—1837, 2—1838, none—1839, 2—1840, 1. There is a solution for this riddle—a key to this lock, which many readers may find it rather difficult to pick, without assistance. Before the first year, named by Haydn, 1820, Sir Samuel Romilly, who fell, by his own hand, in a fit of temporary derangement, in 1818, occasioned by the death of his wife, had published—not long before—his admirable pamphlet, urging a revision of the criminal code, and a limitation of capital punishment. In consequence of his exertions, and of those of Sir James Mackintosh afterwards, and more recently of Sir Robert Peel and others, a great change had taken place, in the mode of punishment. Crime had not diminished, in London—it was differently dealt with. I advise the reader, who desires light, upon this highly important and interesting subject, to read, with care, the entire article, from which I transcribe the following short passage—