Diary in America, Series Two

The National Theatre at New York was originally built as an opera house, and the company procured from the Havannah; but the opera, from want of support, was a failure. It has since been taken by Mr James Wallack, in opposition to the Park Theatre. The two first seasons its success was indifferent; the Park having the advantage in situation, as well as of a long-standing reputation. But, latterly, from the well-known talent and superior management of Mr Wallack, and from his unwearied exertions in providing novelties for the American public, it has been very successful; so much so, that it is said this last year to have decidedly obtained the superiority over its rival. I have seen some splendid representations in the National Theatre, with a propriety in scenery and costume which is seldom exceeded even in our great theatres.

Indeed, in three seasons, Mr Wallack has done much to improve the national taste; and from his exertions, the theatres in general in America may be said to have been much benefited. But there is one objection to this rivalry between the Park and National; which is, that the stars go out too fast, and they will soon be all expended. Formerly things went on very regularly: Mr Price sent out to Mr Simpson, duly invoiced, a certain portion of talent for every season; and Mr Simpson, who is a very clever manager, first worked it up at New York, and then dispatched it to Boston, Philadelphia, and the other theatres in the Union. But, now, if Mr Simpson has two stars sent to him, James Wallack comes home, and takes out three; whereupon, Mr Price sends out a bigger star; and so they go on; working up the stars so fast, that the supply will never equal the demand. There are not more than two or three actors of eminence in England, who have not already made their appearance on the American boards; and next season will probably use them up. It is true, that some actors can return there again and again; as Power, who is most deservedly a favourite with them, and Ellen Tree, who is equally so. Celeste has realised a large fortune. Mrs Wood, and the Keeleys, were also very great favourites; but there are not many actors who can venture there a second time; at least, not until a certain interval has elapsed for the Americans to forget them. When there are no longer any stars, the theatres will not be so well attended; as, indeed, is the case every where. To prove how fond the Americans are of anything that excites them, I will mention a representation which I one day went to see—that of the “Infernal Regions.” There were two or three of these shewn in the different cities in the States. I saw the remnants of another, myself; but, as the museum-keeper very appropriately observed to me, “It was a fine thing once, but now it had all gone to hell.” You entered a dark room; where, railed off with iron railings, you beheld a long perspective of caverns in the interior of the earth, and a molten lake in the distance. In the foreground were the most horrible monsters that could be invented—bears with men’s heads, growling—snakes darting in and out, hissing—here a man lying murdered, with a knife in his heart; there—a suicide, hanging by the neck—skeletons lying about in all directions, and some walking up and down in muslin shrouds. The machinery was very perfect. At one side was the figure of a man sitting down, with a horrible face; boar’s tusks protruding from his mouth, his eyes rolling, and horns on his head; I thought it was mechanism as well as the rest; and was not a little surprised when it addressed me in a hollow voice: “We’ve been waiting some time for you, captain.” As I found he had a tongue, I entered into conversation with him. The representation wound up with showers of fire, rattling of bones, thunder, screams, and a regular cascade of the d—d, pouring into the molten lake. When it was first shewn, they had an electric battery communicating with the iron railing; and whoever put his hand on it, or went too near, received a smart electric shock. But the alarm created by this addition was found to be attended with serious consequences, and it had been discontinued.

The love of excitement must of course produce a love of gambling, which may be considered as one of the American amusements: it is, however, carried on very quietly in the cities. In the South, and on the Mississippi, it is as open as the noon day; and the gamblers may be said to have there become a professional people. I have already mentioned them, and the attempts which have been made to get rid of them. Indeed, they are not only gamesters who practice on the unwary, but they combine with gambling the professions of forgery, and uttering of base money. If they lose, they only lose forged notes. There is no part of the world where forgery is carried on to such an extent as it is in the United States; chiefly in the Western country. The American banks are particularly careful to guard against this evil, but the ingenuity of these miscreants is surprising, and they will imitate so closely as almost to escape detection at the banks themselves. Bank-note engraving is certainly carried to the highest state of perfection in the United States, but almost in vain. I have myself read a notice, posted up at Boston, which may appear strange to us. “Bank notes made here to any pattern.” But the Eastern banks are seldom forged upon. Counterfeit money is also very plentiful. When I was in the West, I had occasion to pay a few dollars to a friend: when I saw him a day or two afterwards, he said to me, “Do you know that three dollars you gave me were counterfeits?” I apologised, and offered to replace them, “Oh! no,” replied he; “it’s of no consequence. I gave them in payment to my people, who told me that they were counterfeit; but they said it was of no consequence, as they could easily pass them.” In some of the States lotteries have been abolished, in others they are still permitted. They are upon the French principle, and are very popular.

There is one very remarkable point in the American character, which is, that they constantly change their professions. I know not whether it proceeds simply from their love of change, or from their embracing professions at so early a period, that they have not discovered the line in which from natural talents they are best calculated to succeed. I have heard it said, that it is seldom that an American succeeds in the profession which he had first taken up at the commencement of his career. An American will set up as a lawyer; quit, and go to sea for a year or two; come back, set up in another profession; get tired again, go as clerk or steward in a steam-boat, merely because he wishes to travel; then apply himself to something else, and begin to amass money. It is of very little consequence what he does, the American is really a jack of all trades, and master of any to which he feels at last inclined to apply himself.

In Mrs Butler’s clever journal there is one remark which really surprised me. She says, “The absolute absence of imagination is of course the absolute absence of humour. An American can no more understand a fanciful jest than a poetical idea; and in society and conversation the strictest matter of fact prevails,” etcetera.

If there was nothing but “matter of fact” in society and conversation in America or elsewhere, I imagine that there would not be many words used: but I refer to the passage, because she says that the Americans are not imaginative; whereas, I think that there is not a more imaginative people existing. It is true that they prefer broad humour, and delight in the hyperbole, but this is to be expected in a young nation; especially as their education is, generally speaking, not of a kind to make them sensible to very refined wit, which, I acknowledge, is thrown away upon the majority. What is termed the under current of humour, as delicate raillery, for instance, is certainly not understood. When they read Sam Slick, they did not perceive that the author was laughing at them; and the letters of Major Jack Downing are much more appreciated in this country than they are in America. But as for saying that they are not imaginative, is a great error, and I have no doubt that Mrs B has discovered it by this time.

Miss Martineau says, and very truly, “The Americans appear to me an eminently imaginative people.” Indeed, it is only necessary to read the newspapers to be convinced it is the case. The hyperbole is their principal forte, but what is lying but imagination? and why do you find that a child of promising talent is so prone to lying? because it is the first effort of a strong imagination. Wit requires refinement, which the Americans have not; but they have excessive humour, although it is generally speaking coarse.

An American, talking of an ugly woman with a very large mouth, said to me, “Why, sir, when she yawns, you can see right down to her garters;” and another, speaking of his being very sea-sick, declared, “That he threw every thing up, down to his knee-pans.”

If there required any proof of the dishonest feeling so prevalent in the United States arising from the desire of gain, it would be in the fact, that almost every good story which you hear of an American is an instance of great ingenuity, and very little principle. So many have been told already, that I hesitate to illustrate my observation, from fear of being accused of uttering stale jokes. Nevertheless I will venture upon one or two.

“An American (Down East, of course), when his father died, found his patrimony to consist of several hundred dozen of boxes of ointment for the cure of a certain complaint, said (by us) to be more common in the North than in England. He made up his pack, and took a round of nearly a hundred miles, going from town to town and from village to village, offering his remedy for sale. But unfortunately for him no one was afflicted with the complaint, and they would not purchase on the chance of any future occasion for it. He returned back to his inn, and having reflected a little, he went out, inquired where he could find the disease, and having succeeded, inoculated himself with it. When he was convinced that he had it with sufficient virulence, he again set forth making the same round; and taking advantage of the American custom which is so prevalent, he shook hands with everybody whom he had spoken to on his former visit, declaring he was ‘’tarnal glad to see them again.’ Thus he went on till his circuit was completed, when he repaired to the first town again, and found that his ointment, as he expected, was now in great request; and he continued his route as before, selling every box that he possessed.”

There is a story of a Yankee clock-maker’s ingenuity, that I have not seen in print. He also “made a circuit, having a hundred clocks when he started; they were all very bad, which he well knew; but by ‘soft sawder and human natur,’ as Sam Slick says, he contrived to sell ninety-nine of them, and reserve the last for his intended ‘ruse.’ He went to the house where he had sold the first clock, and said, ‘Well, now, how does your clock go? very well, I guess.’ The answer was as he anticipated, ‘No, very bad.’ ‘Indeed! Well, now, I’ve found it out at last. You see, I had one clock which was I know a bad one, and I said to my boy, “you’ll put that clock aside, for it won’t do to sell such an article.” Well, the boy didn’t mind, and left the clock with the others; and I found out afterwards that it had been sold somewhere. Mighty mad I was, I can tell you, for I’m not a little particular about my credit; so I have asked here and there, everywhere almost, how my clocks went, and they all said that “they actually regulated the sun.” But I was determined to find out who had the bad clock, and I am most particular glad that I have done it at last. Now, you see I have but one clock left, a very superior article, worth a matter of ten dollars more than the others, and I must give it you in change, and I’ll only charge you five dollars difference, as you have been annoyed with the bad article.’ The man who had the bad clock thought it better to pay five dollars more to have a good one; so the exchange was made, and then the Yankee, proceeding with the clock, returned to the next house. ‘Well, now, how does your clock go? very well, I guess.’ The same answer—the same story repeated—and another five dollars received in exchange. And thus did he go round, exchanging clock for clock, until he had received an extra five dollars for every one which he had sold.”

Logic.—“A Yankee went into the bar of an inn in a country town: ‘Pray what’s the price of a pint of shrub?’ ‘Half a dollar,’ was the reply of the man at the bar. ‘Well, then, give it me.’ The shrub was poured out, when the bell rang for dinner. ‘Is that your dinner-bell?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘What may you charge for dinner?’ ‘Half a dollar.’ ‘Well, then, I think I had better not take the shrub, but have some dinner instead.’ This was consented to. The Yankee went in, sat down to his dinner, and when it was over, was going out of the door without paying. ‘Massa,’ said the negro waiter, ‘you not paid for your dinner.’ ‘I know that; I took the dinner instead of the shrub.’ ‘But, massa, you not pay for the shrub.’ ‘Well, I did not have the shrub, did I, you nigger?’ said the Yankee, walking away. The negro scratched his head; he knew that something was wrong, as he had got no money; but he could not make it out till the Yankee was out of sight.”

I do not think that democracy is marked upon the features of the lower classes in the United States; there is no arrogant bearing in them, as might be supposed from the despotism of the majority; on the contrary, I should say that their lower classes are much more civil than our own. I had a slap of equality on my first landing at New York. I had hired a truck-man to take up my luggage from the wharf; I went a-head, and missed him when I came to the corner of the street where I had engaged apartments, and was looking round for him in one direction, when I was saluted with a slap on the shoulder, which was certainly given with good-will. I turned, and beheld my carman, who had taken the liberty to draw my attention in this forcible manner. He was a man of few words; he pointed to his truck where it stood with the baggage, and then went on.

This civil bearing is peculiar, as when they are excited by politics, or other causes, they are most insolent and overbearing. In his usual demeanour, the citizen born is quiet and obliging. The insolence you meet with is chiefly from the emigrant classes. I have before observed, that the Americans are a good-tempered people; and to this good temper I ascribe their civil bearing. But why are they good-tempered? It appears to me to be one of the few virtues springing from democracy. When the grades of society are distinct, as they are in the older institutions, when difference of rank is acknowledged and submitted to without murmur, it is evident that if people are obliged to control their tempers in presence of their superiors or equals, they can also yield to them with their inferiors; and it is this yielding to our tempers which enables them to master us. But under institutions where all are equal, where no one admits the superiority of another, even if he really be so, where the man with the spade in his hand will beard the millionaire, and where you are compelled to submit to the caprice and insolence of a domestic, or lose his services, it is evident that every man must from boyhood have learnt to control his temper, as no ebullition will be submitted to, or unfollowed by its consequences. I consider that it is this habitual control, forced upon the Americans by the nature of their institutions, which occasions them to be so good-tempered, when not in a state of excitement. The Americans are in one point, as a mob, very much like the English; make them laugh, and they forget all their animosity immediately.

One of the most singular points about the lower classes in America is, that they will call themselves ladies and gentlemen, and yet refuse their titles to their superiors. Miss Martineau mentions one circumstance, of which I very often met with similar instances. “I once was with a gentleman who was building a large house; he went to see how the men were getting on; but they had all disappeared but one. ‘Where are the people?’ inquired he. ‘The gentlemen be all gone to liquor,’ was the reply.”

I bought one of the small newspapers just as I was setting off in a steam-boat from New York to Albany. The boy had no change, and went to fetch it. He did not come back himself, but another party made his appearance. “Are you the man who bought the newspaper?” “Yes,” replied I. “The young gentleman who sold it to you has sent me to pay you four cents.”

A gentleman was travelling with his wife, they had stopped at an inn, and during the gentleman’s momentary absence the lady was taken ill. The lady wishing for her husband, a man very good-naturedly went to find him, and when he had succeeded he addressed him, “I say, Mister, your woman wants you; but I telled the young lady of the house to fetch her a glass of water.”

There was no insolence intended in this; it is a peculiarity to be accounted for by their love of title and distinction.

It is singular to observe human nature peeping out in the Americans, and how tacitly they acknowledge by their conduct how uncomfortable a feeling there is in perfect equality. The respect they pay to a title is much greater than that which is paid to it in England; and naturally so; we set a higher value upon that which we cannot obtain. I have been often amused at the variance on this point between their words and their feelings, which is shewn in their eagerness for rank of some sort among themselves. Every man who has served in the militia carries his title until the day of his death. There is no end to generals, and colonels, and judges; they keep taverns and grog shops, especially in the Western State; indeed, there are very few who have not brevet rank of some kind; and I being only a captain, was looked upon as a very small personage, as far as rank went. An Englishman, who was living in the State of New York, had sent to have the chimney of his house raised. The morning afterwards he saw a labourer mixing mortar before the door. “Well,” said the Englishman, “when is the chimney to be finished?” “I’m sure I don’t know, you had better ask the colonel.” “The colonel? What colonel?” “Why, I reckon that’s the colonel upon the top of the house, working away at the chimney.”

After all, this fondness for rank, even in a democracy, is very natural, and the Americans have a precedent for it. His Satanic Majesty was the first democrat in heaven, but as soon as he was dismissed to his abode below, if Milton be correct, he assumed his title.

Volume Two—Chapter Six

Aristocracy

If the Americans should imagine that I have any pleasure in writing the contents of this chapter they will be mistaken; I have considered well the duty of and pondered over it. I would not libel an individual, much less a whole nation; but I must speak the truth, and upon due examination, and calling to my mind all that I have collected from observation and otherwise, I consider that at this present time the standard of morality is lower in America than in any other portion of the civilised globe. I say at this present time, for it was not so even twenty years ago, and possibly may not be so twenty years hence. There is a change constantly going on in every thing below, and I believe, for many reasons, that a change for the better will soon take place in America. There are even now many thousands of virtuous, honourable, and enlightened people in the United States, but at present virtue is passive, while vice is active.

The Americans possess courage, presence of mind, perseverance, and energy, but these may be considered rather as endowments than as virtues. They are propelling powers which will advance them as a people, and, were they regulated and tempered by religious and moral feeling, would make them great and good, but without these adjuncts they can only become great and vicious.

I have observed in my preface that the virtues and vices of a nation are to be traced to the form of government, the climate, and circumstances, and it will be easy to shew that to the above may be ascribed much of the merit as well as the demerits of the people of the United States.

In the first place, I consider the example set by the government as most injurious: as I shall hereafter prove, it is insatiable in its ambition, regardless of its faith, and corrupt to the highest degree. This example I consider as the first cause of the demoralisation of the Americans. The errors incident to the voluntary system of religion are the second: the power of the clergy is destroyed, and the tyranny of the laity has produced the effect of the outward form having been substituted for the real feeling, and hypocrisy has been but too often substituted for religion.

To the evil of bad example from the government is superadded the natural tendency of a democratic form of government, to excite ambition without having the power to gratify it morally or virtuously; and the debasing influence of the pursuit of gain is everywhere apparent. It shews itself in the fact that money is in America everything, and everything else nothing; it is the only sure possession, for character can at any time be taken from you, and therefore becomes less valuable than in other countries, except so far as mercantile transactions are concerned. Mr Cooper says—not once, but many times—that in America all the local affections, indeed everything, is sacrificed to the spirit of gain. Dr Charming constantly laments it, and he very truly asserts, “A people that deems the possession of riches its highest source of distinction, admits one of the most degrading of all influences to preside over its opinions. At no time should money be ever ranked as more than a means, and he who lives as if the acquisition of property were the sole end of his existence, betrays the dominion of the most sordid, base, and grovelling motive that life offers;” and ascribing it to the institutions, he says, “In one respect our institutions have disappointed us all: they have not wrought out for us that elevation of character which is the most precious, and, in truth, the only substantial blessing of liberty.”

I have before observed, that whatever society permits, men will do and not consider to be wrong, and if the government considers a breach of trust towards it as not of any importance, and defaulters are permitted to escape, it will of course become no crime in the eyes of the majority. Mr Cooper observes, “An evident dishonesty of sentiment pervades the public itself, which is beginning to regard acts of private delinquency with a dangerous indifference; acts too that are inseparably connected with the character, security, and right administration of the state.”

Such is unfortunately the case at present; it may be said to have commenced with the Jackson dynasty, and it is but a few years since this dreadful demoralisation has become so apparent and so shamelessly avowed. In another work the American author above quoted observes,—“We see the effects of this baneful influence in the openness and audacity with which men avow improper motives and improper acts, trusting to find support in a popular feeling, for while vicious influences are perhaps more admitted in other countries than in America, in none are they so openly avowed.” Surely there is sufficient of American authority to satisfy any reader that I am not guilty of exaggeration in my remarks. Nor am I the only traveller who has observed upon what is indeed most evident and palpable. Captain Hamilton says, “I have heard conduct praised in conversation at a public table, which, in England, would be attended, if not with a voyage to Botany Bay, at least with total loss of character. It is impossible to pass an hour in the bar of the hotel, without struck with the tone of callous selfishness which pervades the conversation, and the absence of all pretension to pure and lofty principle.”

It may indeed be fairly said, that nothing is disgraceful with the majority in America, which the law cannot lay hold of.25 You are either in or out of the Penitentiary: if once in, you are lost for ever, but keep out and you are as good as your neighbour. Now one thing is certain, that where honesty is absolutely necessary, honesty is to be found, as for example among the New York merchants, who are, as a body, highly honourable men. When, therefore, the Americans will have moral courage sufficient to drive away vice, and not allow virtue to be in bondage, as she at present is, the morals of society will be instantly restored—and how and when will this be effected? I have said that the people of time United States, at the time of the Declaration of Independence, were perhaps the most moral people existing, and I now assert that they are the least so; to what cause can this change be ascribed? Certainly not wholly to the spirit of gain, for it exists every where, although perhaps nowhere so strongly developed as it is under a form of government which admits of no other claim to superiority. I consider that it arises from the total extinction, or if not extinction absolute bondage, of the aristocracy of the country, both politically as well as socially. There was an aristocracy at the time of the Independence—not an aristocracy of title, but a much superior one; an aristocracy of great, powerful, and leading men, who were looked up to and imitated; there was, politically speaking, an aristocracy in the senate which was elected by those who were then independent of the popular will; but although a portion of it remains, it may be said to have been almost altogether smothered, and in society it no longer exists. It is the want of this aristocracy that has so lowered the standard of morals in America, and it is the revival of it that must restore to the people of the United States the morality they have lost. The loss of the aristocracy has sunk the Republic into a democracy—the renewal of it will again restore them to their former condition. Let not the Americans start at this idea. An aristocracy is not only not incompatible, but absolutely necessary for the duration of a democratic form of government. It is the third estate, so necessary to preserve the balance of power between the executive and the people, and which has unfortunately disappeared. An aristocracy is as necessary for the morals as for the government of a nation. Society must have a head to lead it, and without that head there will be no fixed standard of morality, and things must remain in the chaotic state in which they are at present.