WHY
A NATIONAL LITERATURE
CANNOT FLOURISH
IN THE
UNITED STATES OF NORTH AMERICA

THE PEOPLE OF THE UNITED STATES IS NOT A NEW PEOPLE.

Many americans, and a few foreigners, think that America is yet too young a country for possessing a National Literature. If they intend to say, that the number of classical writers of America, cannot yet compete with the number of classical writers of any old country, of course, it cannot be otherwise. But, that the living present americans cannot have an equal number of writers, as the living old nations, for no other reason, but because this nation is a new one, is what I deny.

Were America a nation of indians beginning now their civilization, independently of any other already civilized nation, to reproach them because they have not a competent literature as well as the old civilized nations, it would be the same as to reproach the times of Abram, because they were not civilized as the present most civilized nations. Such is not the case with the United States of America. The american soil is new; but, the american people is not younger than the european people. This country is composed of colonies from the old continent, who came here with the very laws, religions, learning, languages, prejudices, arts, and literature of the old continent. The classical writers of their mother countries belong to the american also: and to say that the present living american people cannot have a classical literature as well as the present living writers of their mother country, because it is too young a people, it would be the same as to say, that the language of the United States is not an english language.

Besides, if it is a soil fit to expel old prejudices, it is this new soil, now in possession of an old people as we stand in this country. Some writers, traveling through this country, supposed the americans a people of facts only, from whom fine arts, poetry, or literature cannot be expected; as if fine arts, poetry, and literature were not things of fact, as laws, government, or mechanical works. Man is an imitating being: honor an american Tasso, or an american Michæl Angelo, and instead of having too many, who aspire the presidency of the United States, you will have your Tassos, and your Michæl Angelos. That America has her artists, poets, and literati as well as England, France, Germany, or Italy, I have no doubt: but, if the genius does not flourish here as it does among the old nations, my purpose is now to demonstrate it.

THE PRESENT FASHIONABLE LITERATURE IS UNWORTHY OF THIS GREAT NATION.

I say it again; were the people encouraged to look back to standards of classical literature, so rich in all the languages of the old continent, this glorious, ambitious country, soon would have her Johnsons, her Rousseaus, her Dantes, her Machiavellis. But, the little which the americans read now, are but light works from the english press, here reprinted; contentions of parties, called politics; and american periodicals, praising each other: and these periodicals, having now the consideration of oracles in literature, keep under a contemptible silence many american geniuses, who were too independent to bend under the ruling will of any party. However, there are daily papers, as well as periodicals of my highest esteem: I mean only to say, here; monopoly can be found in every trade; and fashion, not only ruins the feet of chinese, and the shape of american ladies; fashion ruins also a National Literature.

There is, at present, in the United States of America, a fashionable, unwholsome, immoral practice of writing, which, although the ancients had not always been free of reproach, now a days, is rather too much frequented. I mean a kind of personal ridiculing, and retaliating each other’s national foible, unmercifully. If an english comes here, and finds faults with us, as no nation can be yet without faults, it is our duty to thank the writer, and correct ourselves. If the imputation is false, truth speaks for itself. But, to go into England with a spirit of revenge by retaliating with ostentation, pleasure, and self conceit, the faults which we find among that nation, faults which we have not, we must then have forgotten the very moral principle required to literature. He, or she who does not know charity, the former would do better to plant potatoes; and the latter to attend her family kitchen, or darn her husband’s stockings. A writer should look with pain at the faults of all nations; and could he have a little patriotic feeling without prejudice, he would not tell to his children they are the prettiest, because he finds others who are uglier. He should rather feel displeased not to find, on earth, another nation from whom he cannot learn how to become better.

That book which does not elevate the human mind to noble, generous sentiments, is a dangerous book! He who ridicules others, should, in his turn, be the only subject worthy of being ridiculed: but, the innocent man who steps into a drawing room, laming as Byron with a wish to imitate Byron, if, unfortunately, he falls on the carpet, or cannot prevent his tumbler of lemonade from falling on a lady’s black satin dress, not only we should indulge his weak side; but, if we wish to be polite, we should turn our eyes from his uncomfortable position. Though to ridicule another it is the same as to say: I am a perfect being, I often found, that he who is fond of the fun, and laughs at his neighbor, because this has no nose, he turns angry, when another laughs at him, because he has only one eye: I mean to say, here; could we see the soul of the individual, so fond of ridiculing his fellow beings, such an exhibition would present a hideous grim face of envy without heart, without any worthy feeling.

In writing against the present, fashionable style of ridiculing, I wish to be well understood. I do not intend here, to dissuade writers from exposing the ridicule of man in the abstract. On the contrary; I think, for our improvements, nothing is more beneficial than the caricatures, or the faults of real life, exposed in a ridiculous light, by which the reader would correct his faults, if he has any like. But the writer should give the caricatures with such modifications, or charged colors, with which to avoid all personalities. And here, the writer, who must pen from nature, may sometimes delineate a living character, whom he had forgotten, or did never see: but, such a writer cannot be blamed for all the faults of man; and as it is not a malicious composition, he, who has like ridicules, has but to correct himself.

National faults also cannot be personalities. Besides, I may, for instance, write, or speak of persons I met in a stage, in a private house, theatre, or church, provided their names are not mentioned. If the historical fact happened, only, with the person introduced in the tale, nobody knows of whom the writer is speaking, or writing; if it happened before other persons, the truth of the fact prevents, rather, those fond of making false stories from the smallest event; the truth cannot offend either of the parties. Besides, men would conduct themselves better, were they afraid of being exposed: and if we have committed an offence towards an innocent person, we should listen, and do better for the time to come. I mean only to say here, were all writers, who can wield a pen, permitted to book all the characters they meet with, writers should be avoided as cholera: and though in this, and many other countries libeling did turn fashionable, I understood that such writers are not the most welcome, among those who do not like to see their private characters heralded; and that America can not be offended in finding american families heralded, because lords, and ladies of England are heralded also, it is the same as to wish here, the same faults, permitted in that country, for no other reason, because the lords of England cannot prevent an english editor from prying into their private houses. If I preach morals, and at the same time I act immorally, not only I wrong myself in exposing my hypocrisy; but, I turn literature into an infamous art. I repeat it again, good or bad characters may be blended in a novel, comedy, or tragedy, where the characters, though taken from nature, cannot offend any private individual; but, the names, or exact characters, should not be exposed by writers, unless the individuals are notorious, or had already become a part of history.

Like immoral writers have, now a days, become so fashionable for which, loosing all respect which man ought to have for man, we see dandies ridiculing not only private characters; they write of nations, as if their cat-like brain could judge that of an elephant. That part, or that half of a man, whose life was spent in setting his cravat without a fault, as soon as he visits a strange country, where the cravat is tied à la sans façon, such a half man calls all those people a set of fools. He who did never live in the luxury of a palace, finds that his two story house, built without knowledge of architecture, is by far more comfortable than the palace built by Michæl Angelo. The protestant finds nothing reasonable in a catholic country; and the catholic nothing reasonable in a protestant one. He whose life was spent in contending parties, cannot understand how the citizens of another country go so quietly to their own private business, without meddling with the ruling power. The subject of England calls the americans free fools; and the turk calls barbarous those nations condeming a man to a forced labor for bigamy, or polygamy. These, while they do not permit divorce, connive at a man living with another woman, as far as he does not marry in church the second, as he did the former still living. Because that country educates, and brings them up, all the children from poor parents, this other traveler, who had never read the laws of Sparta, blames all poor, who marry in his country, because his legislators did no more provide for them, than they had for the flies which pester his luxurious table.

I might blend here, and multiply the prejudices as well as the good reasons of travelers to infinity, almost: but, unless the dandy ceases from being a dandy; the religious from being a superstitious man; I mean, as far as the writer does not look at things with a charitable, and unprejudiced eye, the too many writers of our day, not only injure our literature; they degrade it. And why, instead of cavils, frivolous misrepresentations of persons and nations, writers do not place themselves as citizens of the world, correcting national faults, as a father would his beloved children? The greatest man, and the most nigh to perfection, could not, would not, should not boast of his fine qualities. If an Aristides is rare, very rare among us, how can a nation boast supremacy over another? From my own experience I always found the best the modest; and he who has no merit boasting merit. It is a pity in seeing writers finding fault with nations, because these eat with a knife and fork, or because they do not eat three eggs in a tumbler. Knifes and forks are convenient, when the meat is hot; and I, who am fond of eggs, like to crack four eggs in a tumbler, provided the present sensible american does not care of the puerile english observation. Besides, if I am pleased in looking at the fine architecture of an italian palace, I am pleased also in seeing that the small, modest, and nearly uniform houses of the United States of North America, have the blessed appearance of a nation, whose richest citizens do not outshine the poor.

What right has he, the man of talent, or the handsome man to ridicule he who has no talent, or he who is deformed? He who ridicules a nation shows his perfect ignorance of nations. Can we find a nation without faults? When the egyptians were the most civilized, all the other nations were either savage or barbarous. The egyptians went down, and the greeks rose: the old age of these, reached them too, and the romans shot forth. These, also, had their days as the formers; and civilization went progressively around the world with such propagating means, and discoveries, that the citizen of any nation now, who undertakes to ridicule an ancient nation, he is nothing else but like that bad son of Noah, who saw the nakedness of his father, and told his two brethren without.

THE AMERICAN LITERATURE IS RATHER TOO MUCH MIXED WITH THE BELIEF OF DIFFERENT RELIGIOUS FAITHS.

Six or seven years ago, I opened a book which I found on the central table of the house’s parlor in which I lodged. It was the fifth, or seventh edition of Notes, or Letters by a minister of the christian reform who went through Italy. The reverend says in his book that the pope received him kindly, and during the long conversation he had with him, that very head of the catholic religion, praised America, which is to say his country, because the american people tolerated the catholic religion. Besides, the author of those Notes says in his very book, that he was much pleased by the reception he received from the pope. Still, the language which I read in that very book, against the pope, and all the catholicism, was as much as what the preachers of the reform had said against the catholics in darker ages, for which iron, and fire did martyr so many catholic victims, and for which, even in our times, the benevolent Charles the first of England, is still calumniated, and the jealous, and tyrannic Elizabeth, is still elevated to the sky, as one of the most virtuous queens. To change the mind of such a minister of charity, who was kindly received by the pope, it is not my purpose here. The mind of such a man, whom I do not know, it might be of such materials, which turn harder the more you attempt to bring it to reason. I would only advise the benevolent man, never to visit any persons whom he cannot esteem. Had the author of those Notes given me hospitality, and received me as the pope did receive him, and afterwards, had I had the misfortune of using my spleen against him, I could not esteem myself, unless I would publicly acknowledge my inurbanity. As no pope has yet done any good to my desolate, afflicted, dear country (and I do not except here, even Ganganelli himself) I have never seen, and I have no wish to see any pope: but, as a lover of justice, I do not like to see my enemy so badly treated. If in the whole bible we can find one single passage inculcating persecution to those, who do not think as we do; nay, if among the hundred and one religions, grounded on the bible, the only true one condemns, and must exterminate all the others; as we cannot be the contending party, and the judge, let us do a good work’s day: I mean, let us make a bonfire with all the bibles, though a great wisdom be mixed in it. If the bible teaches us charity, love, tolerance, and natural understanding, let us follow, venerate, and worship it; but, at the same time, let us send into prisons those fanatics who, not minding history, arts, and sciences, preach nothing but intolerance, and persecution with the bible in their hands. The ancient romans had their censurers. In this country I would have a board of gentlemen with officers to prevent fanaticism, and persecution: and the preacher who says, that the best moral is to brand those, who have a different religion from that which he professes, should not be permitted to preach to an assembly of honest people. The drunkard injures only himself, and very seldom the few near him. The spirit of fanaticism did exterminate nations! If we are indebted to philosophy for the little religion which we have yet, the true ministers of Christ must needs join with the humane voice of philosophy, unless they have not at heart their families, life, and lawful property of this world: and then, if they find fault with the shakers, because the wish of these, is to annihilate the human race by preventing marriage; the fanatics of other denominations are doing nothing, but to administer arms to destroy those, who cannot think like them.

Not only theological discussions take the place of literature in the United States of America: there is, perhaps, no nation in the world of the present century, in which theocracy attempts to swallow up the people’s rights, though the constitution be against it. And, what power can it have, the wisest constitution, if the plurality, part by cunning, and part by ignorance, are undermining the very foundation of man’s only happiness, his sacred rights? Just, intelligent, learned, high minded clergymen are against the doctrine of Mr. Pusey: but, it is with a sorrowful mind we have witnessed the too many reformers wishing to adopt the very popish power, against the very power for which Luther, and Calvin had, and have such an influence in the mind of nations.

I will not pass under silence here, the ecclesiastical courts with which they began by judging errors of faith, dereliction of duty, and venial offences among the members, or officers of their churches; and, with such a seeming insignificant beginning, they hold, already, such a temporal power, with which they try now members, or officers, rendered criminal by the laws of the land! The only trial of Rev. Fairchild, charged with seduction, is a historical fact.

There are religious people in this world for whom, had I had the mind of Voltaire, and obliged to live with them, I have no doubt they would have rendered me the most religious man: and among like blessed religious persons, my mother, and few others I have the honor to be acquainted with, are of the number. But history, and the very fanaticism of the middle age, which we have witnessed lately in Philadelphia, are enough to make angels, and Sophy weep.

Though America has her great share of fanaticism, she is not the only nation. At the time in which the smoke of the burning catholic churches, in the city of brotherly love, was rising to heaven, Maria Joaquino was sentenced to suffer death in Madeira, because she did not consent with the doctrines received, and followed by the catholic church. The difference between several governments of Europe, and the United States of America is this: intolerance in Europe is in the hand of despotical power against the many; and in America it is in the hand of the many against their very paternal government. The european people might one of our future days cut off the head of despotism; the american people might place a despot on the throne. The sons of the very pilgrims who ran from the persecution of religious rage into this country, condemned the other day a Mr. Sable Rogers of Springfield, Massachusetts, on a charge of violating the Lord’s day in mowing and making hay. So that, while they preach tolerance, the puritans, with no other reason but of being the most numerous, and by consequence the strongest, they force, and condemn a jew, a catholic, a mahomedan, a chinese; in a word, all those who have not their religion, and do not feel inclined to do exactly what they do themselves. How can such a despotical state, as Massachusetts, preach abolition against his slave, brother states of the south, it is what a sound mind cannot understand; unless we perceive in it, the blind, uncharitable language of the self pocket interest, with which the north holds the tariff, against the interest of the south.

The burning of the convent of those innocent Ursulines, and the little knowledge I have of this country, caused me to foretell the last horrors of Philadelphia. It was not a prophecy; it was but a coming event, not different from those we read of in ancient history. If from smoke we argue it must be some fire; from fanaticism we must expect civil wars.

If it is a fact that false religions, false politics, false pride brought desolation into the governments of the old continent; in giving an ear to our faults, our duty is not to be too much pleased of the praises which strangers, or americans bestow upon us, and our government; and sleep under the laurel of our glory. The honest lover of an innocent beauty looks upon her with jealousy, telling to her all her faults in order to render her perfect, without which two married beings cannot attain heavenly, moral happiness. The seducer tells her she is pretty, and without faults: but, after having disgraced her, he leaves with contempt the object of his lust to shed the bitter tears of her vanity. Our duty, beloved americans, is to learn that a free government, like this, cannot govern itself, unless arts, and sciences will have taken the place of religious discussions. It seems to me, that the schools of the Union have nothing in view, but to make divines of all their pupils: and the bible which should not be put into the hands of an innocent person, not only children are forced to study nothing but it; it takes now the place of all the sciences. Are they not, the historical horrors of the bible, repeated now in this very country? However, Europe may sooner do that, which the philanthropists of all ages had always expected: but, if the present America would look for the happiness of man with the views of the fathers of this country, America is better situated to attain sooner the amelioration of our race.

Science tells us plainly; that, the face and forehead are the true signs of an honest man: a hypocrite, whispers, in the ear of a credulous father, not to give his daughter unto that man, who has no other merit but a fine forehead. The credulous father believes the hypocrite; and, spurning his best friend, gives his daughter to a villainous low scull, in which acquisitiveness, and the back part of the bloody brain, are the most predominant. A month after the wedding, the low fore-headed, who knew how to natter such a father-in-law, kills him now in order to become in possession of his property. Had that father studied phrenology, instead of reading nonsense, he would still live happy; and though the low scull was not born to be a genius, he might, at least, have been more honest, had he seen that it was too difficult for him to cheat his wise neighbor.

When Beccaria wrote of Crimes and Penalties, the whole world was for torturing either innocents, or criminals, because divines with the bible in their hands, were against Beccaria. And they were against astronomy, and Galileo was one of the victims. The lava at the foot of the neapolitan Vesuvius, the falls of Niagara tell us that the world must have existed, at least, more than 10,000 years: but, with the bible in their hands, geology must be a false science. And Columbus was thought a dreamer: and Spinosa, Machiavelli, Locke, Spurzheim, Bentham, Fourier, were branded with reprobation, and atheism. The philosophers of our century prove, and demonstrate that the capital penalty is as barbarous as the rack was before Beccaria; still, because the bible says: tooth for tooth, and death for death; the criminal, and, too often, the innocent, are not yet spared from the bloody law. And calling themselves the only light of civilization, and social intercourse, they do nothing but forcing mankind back to five thousand years ago!

How can the rising generation of America govern themselves, when a certain professor says to his hundred students, that Herschel told a falsehood, when the latter demonstrated that in the moon must have been quakes, and revolutions of matter? And why did the professor treat Herschel so badly? Because, the so called learned man, wishing to admit nothing but what he reads in the bible, thinks God would be unjust to send evils in the moon, where those living beings had not committed the original sin. For the sake of brevity, I will say nothing of Maria Monk, Mathias, and women burned alive as witches by a verdict of jury. In a country where the law permits every individual to worship God in its own way, in spite of which Joseph Smith, and his brother, were murdered in a prison—this only fact shows, that the legislators of this country will lose their beneficial power, unless literature will take the place of divinity. May God defend nations from the wrath of fanatics; and the word Charity, so well understood by Jesus, may it be felt as it should be. It is a shame in a christian land, where we boast so much of our morals, to learn from the mouth of the present Sultan a better tolerance: “Musulmans, christians, jews,” said he to his subjects, “you are all dear to me, you are all my children. If there be one amongst you who is oppressed, let him come forward, and justice shall be done him; for it is my wish, that the laws which are made to protect the lives, the properties, and the honor of my subjects, be faithfully administered, musulman, christian, or jew; rich or poor; soldier, priest, or layman, confide in my love, and in my justice; you are all equal in my eyes, as you are equal before the law: you shall be all treated as such; and the Almighty will reward, on the judgment day, the honest, and faithful servant.”

In blaming fanaticism, I do not blame here the government, nor true religious persons: and these, on the contrary, are the objects of my greatest veneration: besides, the burning of the catholic churches in Philadelphia, it is to hope, might have been but an instance of the many bad chances of this world. Have we not seen the best rider braking his neck? Have we not seen the most industrious man dying on the straw? Have we not seen the poles, the italians crushed under the iron hand of tyranny? And where is the ignorant of nations, who will say, that the nations deserve their bad, or good existent position? To say so, it would be as to maintain, there is no injustice in this world of tears; but, not to see, or wishing not to see the faults of his own country, it is the sign of a bad citizen, or of an ignoramus. You, noble victims of tyranny, answer for me to like spoil children of fortune. Indeed, he who enjoys the blessing of good laws, and laughs at, and scorns the noble sufferers, is nothing else but like the impudent son of a monarch, who, while he sees his subjects with straw in their mouth, dying by famine, asks them, why they do not eat bread, and cheese. Swim in your luxuries as long as you please; but do not taunt sufferers.

However, many nations are now awaked, and a good chance might turn, sooner than many expect, all men into civilized beings; and then, the country of man will be the whole earth. He who did not go farther than one hundred miles from the place of his birth, knows but the first page of this large book, the world: And he, who wishes to expel foreigners from his native country, while he places the bushel over his light, does nothing but imitate the chineses of Pekin. Could the greeks surpass the egyptians, had these not opened the gates of civilization to the former? Could the romans surpass the greeks, had the romans not learned from the egyptians and greeks? And though the greater part of Blackstone’s laws are not fit for America, are they not the laws of Blackstone, but the laws of the egyptians, greeks, and romans, interspersed with the feudal laws of Italy and France, adapted to, and modified for the english soil?

Fearing not to be understood, I repeat here again. In writing against uncharitable men, who use the bible improperly, in order to hinder the progress of our race, I have still, and I hope I shall ever have the greatest veneration, towards the benevolent ministers of Christ, and happy christians, who see the daily loss which the heavenly moral of Jesus does suffer, not from unbelievers; but from fanatics, and hypocrites: and though the whole bible is not a book to be placed into the hands of the innocent, he, or she acquainted with the world, if they do read it without prejudice, it is a book of lofty, heavenly moral inspiration, and the first book of literature. But, the true christian follows the good which he finds in the bible, and leaves all religious discussions to the wicked. The wise Christian, I say, understands as well as Terence the nequid nimis. It is a religion in the unerring nature which cannot fail: it is the religion of truth. Our mind turns black by dint of reading black, and still more so, when a great deal of bad is interspersed with good: and those, able to discriminate bad from good, are, unfortunately, too few. The plurality cannot judge by themselves, as far as they are taught to believe every thing, which comes out from the mouth of a so called theologian. Miss Davison, the victim of the Rev. Fairchild, had she not believed him another David, as he pretended to be, she would have spared her shame.

OF NEWSPAPERS.

Next to men, unworthy of the church, injuring American Literature, come editors of certain stamp, the shame of those countries, where it is permitted a free circulation. He who permits an unprincipled man to enter his house, and becomes familiar with his wife, and innocent children, he deserves the same blame as well as if he were leaving them to read unprincipled newspapers. Though we are permitted to carry a bowie-knife, or a pair of pistols in our pocket, the laws of this country will always arrest the criminal, who uses the weapons improperly. The scribbler here, who does not know how to use an academical language, goes unpunished, though he did take from his christian fellow being, more than life—his honor! What more? Prisoners, before their trial, have not been spared by them!

The law which condemns the challenger, and not the aggressor, is a bad law: or, at least, since the couragous man is generous, it should be better to have no law against dueling, and then, few cowards would dare to speak, or write against their fellow beings. Dueling is a private war, which minds the uncivilized, not to insult the better part of the republic. If every man can pull a trigger, not every man has either the opportunity, or can wield a pen against a low scribbler, who had the impudence to injure his reputation with strong words. Gentlemen of congress are so badly treated by such newspapers, and to such an excess, for which, even the strongest words of the english language have lost their sharpness. Still, though the cursing sailor cannot offend God, having no other language to express himself, such language, used in public prints, degrades the people’s language, and National Literature.

Besides, not satisfied with their strong words, they have now introduced engravings, and lithographies with the portraits of the very citizens, whom republicans should respect: and the very newspapers, which condemn John Bull for having fought in a ring of american spectators, exhibit Mr. Henry Clay knocking down the ex-president. Fine moral, indeed! The lustful pictures of Diogenes are less immoral, than such caricatures. The first, is nature exposed to lewdness; the second, inculcates in the mind of man the very scornful laugh of the jews, when Jesus Christ was dying on the cross! If we cannot find other subjects for laughing but such pictures, it would be better for us never to laugh during the whole of our life.

OF TOURISTS IN FOREIGN COUNTRIES.

The very kind of laughter, already described in the foregoing chapter, induced many tourists to laugh at every little imperfection they meet in foreign countries. The laughter of a man of letters should be inoffensive: it should be rather the laughter enhancing the merit of the person he laughs at, than a depreciating, or self-conceited laughter.

Once, in giving letters of introduction to a gentleman, who was going to visit Italy, I could not prevent myself from smiling, on hearing him say: “The Italians are an intelligent people.”—“How do you know it?” said I to him. “Because” he answered, “I think so.” Now a days, every thing goes so fast, that even gentlemen judge of nations before they have seen them! And celebrated writers sell their books, describing nations which they never saw. To those who praised my poor, dear country, rather too much, originated perhaps, from their blind love towards my imperfect, lovely country, I will still be thankful to them, though their praises might spoil Italy. However, the Vicar of Wakefield, also, praised his wife upon her epitaph, which he placed on the chimney piece, in order to keep the good woman to her family duties, during her life time!

No nation has yet reached the civilization for which God created us. As the lover of a little discrimination sees better the faults of the lady whom he loves, than the faults of the ladies whom he does not love, a man of letters, who has at heart the improvements of society, sees the faults of all the countries, with which he feels an interest. Of the blind lovers of my country, I will say here nothing more, than I would of those, who had no kind feeling for Italy. Besides, there are so many, who wrote on Italy, that, were I undertaking to comment on them, it would be a work too long for me, and unfit here. However, as such kind of writers form one of the most extensive branches of our present literature, I will take up “Italy and the Italians,” by J. T. Headley, for two good reasons. The first, because I find in it, the least to say against, and the second, because it is the most recent I know of on the subject.

How could Mr. Headley entitle his short reflections of six months, which he spent in that country, “Italy and the Italians,” I cannot understand. It seems to me, such a title is rather a too pompous one, when we reflect, at the same time, that Mr. Headley, by his very confession, we learn, that he did not know, at that time, the italian language.

It was no more than one or two days Mr. Headley had stepped on a shore of Italy, Genoa, when he found himself offended by two individuals. The first, was a mustached officer, who eyed him askance as he passed; and the second, a black-robed priest, not deigning him even a look, as he went. Here, I find the very logic of the wolf, disposed to eat the lamb, at a water spring.—The officer offended the writer, because he looked at him; and the priest, because he did not deign to look at him! Next, comes an elegantly dressed woman, who, I suppose, having seen Mr. Headley offended, because the priest did not look at him, she lifted her quizzing glass, coolly scanning him from head to foot, and with a smile of self-satisfaction on her face, walked on.—For me, I always like to see a lady looking at me: it is a sign of kind feeling, and innocence: and children, not spoiled by too fond parents, look at strangers with like pleasing curiosity.

The gentleman went to see an Asylum, where he found an italian woman, who had lost her mind, because her father forced her to marry a gentlemen, whom she did not love. This only instance is enough for the writer in question to say: “When we remember in what manner marriages are contracted in this country, looseness of morals in italian woman should cease to surprise us.... Her lover was a young, and melancholy creature.... The morning after she was led to the alter, she sat by her window with pale countenance, and swollen eyes, watching his coming. But, he came no more.... The night that made her a wife, made him a corpse. He had driven a stiletto through his heart.... The young bride went into a paroxysm of grief; and went raving mad.... And now for sixteen years had she lived with a dead heart in her bosom.”

Many of the suicides in America are slandered by fanatics of the temperance society, as being caused by intemperance. Mr. Headley, here, satisfies himself, by venting against the unfortunate young man, these words: “to render his death still more heart-breaking, he had not left her a single line.” Such a gratuitous imputation is, indeed unkind against a man, now in his grave! Had, the writer of “Italy, and the Italians,” sounded a little more the italian heart, he might have found, that the woman, who turned insane, and the man who killed himself for love, cannot have looseness of morals. He, and she who feel love, have a heavenly mind, free from every immoral propensity; and the innocent girl in the private company of her lover, is more morally guarded, than by the most careful parent. I speak here of a lover, and not of those wretches, who dishonor love, and whose base passion renders them incapable of killing themselves for a woman. And here I may use the language of an american lady from her Alida. “I cannot despair of any one who can love—not with the temporary interest that changes its object, as whim, or accident directs; but, who, in spite of disappointment, coldness, rejection, absence, despair, still clings to her who first taught his heart to feel it.”

Mr. Headley is rather one of the most mild in his language, among the many writers who, in copying each other, bring such an unjust blame on all the italian ladies. There may be nations, where ladies might know better how to conceal their affections; but, as the race of Adam and Eve are all beings of flesh, blood, and bones, instances of depravity are found in every part of the world; and like sins, stand in the records of America as well as of Italy: and as there are gentlemen who have their mother and sisters in Italy, whom they esteem and honor, I would advise such writers to use a better language, when they write of other nations. To speak disrespectfully of the ladies of a whole nation, it is not a demonstration; and it is only the devil on two sticks, who could be able to say so. A gentleman from the top of a tower, cannot see what passes in the households of a strange country.

The writer of “Italy and the Italians;” after having passed three weeks in the only city of Genoa, he reproaches himself by having mistook an italian lady for a common woman, because she was badly dressed. And because her good nature prevented her from resenting his innocent mistake, by this only fact, he thinks that the ladies of Italy have not the dignity of the american or english ladies. “Dignity and woman’s rights,” says he, “are nothing to an italian lady, while victory is every thing.” It seems to me that, had the italian lady pouted, because of his mistake, such a bad humor would have robbed her of all woman’s dignity, and woman’s right. Nothing is more attractive in a woman than her innocent forgiveness. And the woman, who shows any fear of losing her dignity or woman’s rights before a gentleman, she does but tell him he is not a gentleman. However, had, here, the gentleman been acquainted with her language, he might have discovered the lady under servant’s garments; and her new dress, nothing but a reproach on herself by having forgotten, at that moment, that she ought to have been better dressed before them. There are faults in innocent woman, which render her still more lovely. It is like that child who stumbles, for too much eagerness in running to embrace its mother. I suppose she was one of those good italian ladies, who forget themselves to please their neighbors; and while her innocent blunders force you to love the childish woman, who always places you at home, you find yourself happy in playing the child with her. That which one calls woman’s dignity, for another, is nothing but a chilling pride.

I must here now copy the following lines from Mr. Headley: “I have seen, and heard much of an italian love of music, but nothing illustrating it so forcibly as an incident that occured last evening at the opera. In the midst of one of the scenes, a man in the pit near the orchestra, was suddenly seized with convulsions. His limbs stiffened; his eyes became set in his head, and stood wide open, staring at the ceiling like the eyes of a corpse; while low, and agonizing groans broke from his struggling bosom. The prima donna came forward at that moment, but seeing his livid, death-stamped face before her, suddenly stopped with a tragic look and start, that for once was perfectly natural. She turned to the bass-singer, and pointed out the frightful spectacle. He also started back in horror, and the prospect was, that the opera would terminate on the spot; but, the scene that was just opening, was the one in which the prima donna was to make her great effort, and around which the whole interest of the play was gathered, and the spectators were determined not to be disappointed, because one man was dying, and so shouted ‘go on! go on!’ Clara Novello gave another look towards the groaning man, whose whole aspect was enough to freeze the blood, and then started off in her part. But, the dying man grew worse and worse, and finally sprung bolt upright in his seat. A person sitting behind him, all-absorbed in the music, immediately placed his hands on his shoulders, pressed him down again, and held him firmly in his place. There he sat, pinioned fast with his pale, corpse-like face upturned, in the midst of that gay assemblage, and the foam rolling over his lips, while the braying of trumpets, and the voice of the singer, drowned the groans that were rending his bosom. At length the foam became streaked with blood, as it oozed through his teeth, and the convulsive starts grew quicker and fiercer. But, the man behind, held him fast, while he gazed in perfect rapture on the singer, who now, like the ascending lark, was trying her loftiest strain. As it ended, the house rang with applause, and the man, who had held down the poor dying creature could contain his ecstacy no longer, and lifting his hands from his shoulders, clapped them rapidly together three or four times, crying out over the ears of the dying man, ‘Brava, brava!’ and then hurriedly placing them back again to prevent his springing up in his convulsive throes. It was a perfectly maddening spectacle, and the music jarred on the chords of my heart, like the blows of a hammer. But, the song was ended, the effect secured, and so the spectators could attend to the sufferer in their midst. The gens d’armes entered, and carried him speechless, and lifeless out of the theatre. If this be the refined nature, and sensitive soul, love of music creates, heaven, keep me from it, and my countrymen. Give me a heart with chords that vibrate to human suffering, sooner than to the most ravishing melody, aye, that can hear nothing, and feel nothing else, when moving pity speaks. But, so the world goes—men will weep over a dying ass, then pitch a brother into the ditch. A play, oh, how they can appreciate, and feel it, they are so sensitive; but a stern stirring fact, they can look as coldly on, as a statue!”

It is now nearly fourteen years, since I arrived in the United States of North America; and were I, here, relating the wrongs, and injustice I received from the hands of several americans—Mr. Headly, though I have not the honor of his acquaintance, as I think him a gentleman, and a man of feeling, in spite of his “Italy and the Italians,” were he using the same style in blaming his countrymen as he blames mine, Mr. Headley, I say, would execrate all the americans! But, stop, my dear sir, I would say to him; you ought not to execrate them all, because I had the misfortune of having fallen among a few american rogues. If I met individuals, whom Petrarca would call gente cui si fa notte innanzi sera, I have nevertheless a high respect still, for the whole nation: and although in this christian old, and new world it is difficult, very difficult to find a friend, not only I have a friend in America; but, I know many whom, though not my friends, I respect and esteem; and could I know the many virtuous, who generally, and unfortunately, are always the most retired, I am sure to find such a number in America—sufficient to shame those, who spoke badly of the whole nation, from which they cannot deny a Franklin received his birth. Still, Mr. Headley, who cannot ignore the many virtuous italians, who accelerated the civilization of the two hemispheres; and the last, though useless efforts made by italians for the rights of a suffering plurality; Mr. Headly, I say, proceeds his foregoing lines with the following: “How such things weaken one’s faith in man, and make him scorn his own nature, that is capable of such stone-like indifference to human suffering! These italians, as a mass, I do not like. They are exceedingly civil, but heartless—frank in manners, but capable of great duplicity in action—fiery-hearted, but not steadily brave, and selfish to any amount of meanness. In a word, you cannot trust them.” But, let us come to the point.

Genoa is a haven where the fourth of the population are strangers; and those who go to the italian opera, are strangers. Without mistake we can calculate that, in that theatre, more than the half of spectators must have been strangers. Mr. Headly says in his pamphlet, that Clara Novello was an english woman; and he does not know if the man who placed his hands on the patient, was an italian or not. But, were such a man an italian, he can no more disgrace the whole italian nation, than a Mr. Ballard can disgrace the whole Union, with his cowardly crime, against the noble minded Miss Amelia Norman. That the spectators in that italian theatre, must have thought the case of the so called dying man, not in such an urgent situation as Mr. Headley did, the very coolness with which the other man held the patient, proves it. But, if Mr. Headley did really think the man was dying; why did not his good american heart, force him to run to his succor? Or, at least, if he was morally suffering, and gazing passively at the dying man as well as the rest of those italians; why he does not suppose all those italians, though idle as he, not to have suffered his very undecided, and painful situation?

I was in Virginia; strangers were suspected as being abolitionists: some strangers had been mobbed, and hung on mere suspicion. In passing by a crowd of people assembled for an election, and seeing many persons around two men, one white and the other black, the former holding the second, bound with a rope like Jesus Christ, when he was dragged to Golgotha, and the white, thinking his old prisoner an escaped slave, with the smile of an expected gain, for which he appeared to me like another Judas, I approached the crowd; and seeing that the poor old black man was suffering, the rope being too tight, I remarked with pity to those, who were laughing at his sufferings, that the rope was torturing the poor human being! Suddenly the whole crowd felt the same charity, and pity I felt; and many went immediately to the magistrate, telling him they doubted the man being a slave, and soon they found he was a free black. I was in that place as a foreigner fallen from the clouds; no body was there to protect me, had a malicious man, for the sake of mischief, whispered, that I was an abolitionist. Mr. Headley could not have such an apprehension in Italy, had he acted with the impulse of his good heart.

Incapacity, timidity, and indecision, which cramp the finest feelings of the human heart, disappear in an instant from a crowded assembly, as soon as one, among them, springs forward the first, to do a good action. The bravest soldiers left the field of a nearly gained battle, because their general had, at that moment, the apprehension of death; and coward soldiers gained battles, because their general was brave, daring the whole time they were fighting. A motley crowd of people are less than soldiers; and an unexpected event in a place of pleasure, will paralyze their very faculties. Had I remained passive as Mr. Headley, I would not have felt the pleasure in seeing that, that crowd of americans had a heart as well as I; and that, if they did not feel sooner the pity which I felt, it was because they were habituated to see slaves in like situation, and not by want of a good heart. Were it necessary, I would bring many like instances which happened to me in America. But, my object, here, is neither a wish to write of my good actions, nor that of judging the whole mass of americans by such little things, or little casualties.

However, as the english Clara Novello went on with her sweet strain, the man near, held the patient down, and the people seemed to overlook the painful sight, I am rather inclined to think, that the patient must have been an epileptic, perhaps known as such by every one in that italian theatre, or, at least, believed by them an epileptic, a malady for which no remedy has yet been found, and the best thing is, to leave him alone, until the spasm will pass over.

Were I controverting all the little incidents upon which, as it seems, Mr. Headley places too much consideration; this work, which I intend to have printed in the form of a small pamphlet, would grow to a big volume. I will only say here, that a writer who intends to give an idea of Italy, and of the Italians, should have taken a quite different ground, though he says: “I have gone over these little things, because they are the best illustration of italian character.” So, a people who has its enemies in the house, a people from whom to expect freedom is to expect the impossible, impossible, I say, because France with her pretended freedom, England with her selfishness, Russia with her despotism, and all the european despotical alliance, diabolically blessed, and sanctioned by what they call christian religion, did, and always would unite with Austria, to crush Italy—her people is judged by little things, which travelers, meet on their way. Every time the italians attempted to shake off the yoke of foreign tyrants, the tyrants oppressing the very italian princes, who rule italian blood, the pope, and his accomplices rendered grace to God, when they heard that their jealous enemies, I mean the protesants, gave to italian princes, ropes to hang the italian Catos, who attempted to place on the italian soil, italian princes, free of foreign servitude. But, this yet uncivilized world, in which the friends of humanity are misrepresented, is still doomed to look without feeling at victims, who honor our degraded race!—May the true God, who is in heaven, listen to my prayer! A short prayer, but a true one!—Foreigners who call us effeminate, must be effeminate themselves, unless they are so ignorant as to call Brutus an effeminate, because they find him in chains with a slave, and forced to work with the last of men! Travelers, and Mr. Headley blame italians, because they find under that sky, worthy of a better fortune, beggars, and wretches “selling their rich ornaments that were the objects of their ancestors’ affection, and veneration, like the trinkets of a toy shop.” But, you, spoiled children of more happy governments, you should not, at least, laugh at our nakedness!—And the pretty piedemontese who gave you a fall, Mr. Headley, because her necessity forced her to stand before you with a little pewter dish in her hand, most humbly asking for a few sous, rather as charity, than as a recompense of her mountain songs; instead of throwing her the coppers, and thinking her inspiration nothing but a love of money, your good, american heart should have prompted a feeling, if not mixed with tears, at least, with a smile of sympathy, which would have been, by far, more pleasing to an italian heart, than your few coppers. That poor delicate female was singing not for the love of money, a love which wrongs rather too much this country of America. She charmed you for the urgent necessity of hunger! And who knows that the loaf of bread she bought with your few coppers, had not been mixed with her innocent and bitter tears? And that hunger is originated from the continual plunders which the despotical foreign powers in Italy, and surrounding Italy, are unlawfully forcing on us to maintain an exorbitant army, with which to distress us. Who knows, that the father of the poor piedmontese had not been hanged for having claimed the rights of man, the very rights to which God did create us?

The other ragged woman to whom your american navy taught how to say: ‘God damn’ without knowing the meaning of it, would prove, that if such americans are found in Italy, passing their christian time with such women, your americans must have looseness of morals as much as my italians. But, as I think the cursing women in Broadway cannot take off the merit of the american ladies, you have no right to think that my mother, and sisters are not ladies! Sins are committed in every part of this world; but, as we know there are virtuous people, we should exclude the greater number, or, at least, think ourselves no better. We are all fine nations, indeed, in this pretended christian world! But, since we cannot fling the first stone, we have no right to laugh at the faults of our neighbor, nor to tell, that our neighbor has not our virtues, or morals.

Mr. Headley has now already passed the half of his time he spent in Italy, which is to say, three months: and though during these three months, he never went out of Genoa, he says that nothing is more stupid than an italian soiree. Had he said a genoese soiree, Mr. Headley would have only offended the citizens of Genoa, who gave him hospitality: but, to offend the whole of Italy, who had never had the pleasure of seeing him, nor he the displeasure of seeing their stupidity, it is what we call a gratuitous offense.—Not pleased therefore, in finding them excessively stupid, he believes that ten dollars would pay, each evening, all the expenses the governor is at, in the entertainment!—Were I saying the same against the kind americans who honored me, every one would be right in thinking, that I must have accepted their invitations, rather for their refreshments than for the pleasure of their conversation. And here, I must copy Mr. Headley’s outline of the italian soirees:—“Splendid rooms, brilliantly illuminated, any quantity of nobility—dancing, waltzing, promenading, ice creams, hot punch,” no hot corn, Mr. Headley? “and late hours make up the description. It is gay, and brilliant, but without force or wit.” And here, benevolent reader, a stranger, who does not know the italian language, dares to say of having found no wit! And, because the kind italians had no other way to please the happy gentleman of this New World, seeing he could not understand their language, they gave him dancing, waltzing, promenading, ice cream and hot punch: and because these things could not amount to ten dollars, he blames, them because the scanty refreshments had not been supplied by wit, with which nature did not favor those poor italian brains! The american lady, I have already quoted, says in her Alida: “Superfluous refinements in eating, and drinking are among the enjoyments least important to a rational being. Do not let us poison a feast to a neighbor, by the mortifying reflection that he can make no similar return. An evil spirit of competition is thus awakened, and all true hospitality destroyed.”

While Mr. Headley claims as an american, a beautiful english lady, whose charms had been transmitted from her american mother, he sadly writes of not having found in Italy not a really pretty woman; and the only one he met, who was called the belle of the city, it was, what he would term, of the doll kind. And mind here, benevolent reader, that the Italy of Mr. Headley, is nothing else but the city of Genoa! He has not yet gone out of it.

To define beauty, I have nothing else to say, that a beauty is the beauty of different men, who have different sight, and different feeling. The artist will always draw it as he feels it himself. But, he who pretends to settle rules on beauty, must needs not know what beauty is. The beauty of one’s eyes cannot be the beauty of another, though rules we find settled by different nations. The Venus of De Medici is a greek beauty, whom a greek would love in preference to any italian, english, french, chinese, or indian beauty. But the chinese will always prefer the chinese, as well as the indian the wild one. He who compares the music of Hyden or Mozart, with the music of Rossini or Bellini, shows too plainly, he does not understand the art. He who wishes to see pretty women, has only to step into the car, and in a few hours he will see in Baltimore a great many. But, if he delays five or six years longer, he might meet there the ugliest in the world, so the glory of the world is transient. Once, in passing through a small city of France, all the women I saw in that place were so pretty, that I thought to have fallen into the garden of Armida. Still, though we know that every dog has its happy days, there are travelers who did not pass but six months in Italy, running through ten cities of that populous country, who, like Mr. Headley, asserted not to have seen one single pretty italian lady. I did pass myself more than six months in one single city of America, without having met one pretty lady, when to my astonishment, I met in that very city, on a public walk, beauties as cheerful as the sun. To bless this being of war, called man, nature did scatter beauties in every part of this singular planet.

However, though Mr. Headley would never consent with the plurality of travelers, who praised the black-eyed beauties of Italy, after having resided in the city of Genoa nearly five months, passed one day in Civita Vecchia, only calculating how long it would take him to get out of it, seen from a steamboat “villainous towns” on the shores from Genoa to Naples, the last month which he spent in this last city, where his turn through Italy closes, caused him to change a little the language he used before: “It is not the partiality one naturally feels for his country women, that governs me,” says Mr. Headley in his twenty first letter; “when I say, that the beautiful women with us stand to them in the proportion of five to one.” And at the close of his pamphlet he added: “A beautiful eye, and eyebrow are more frequently met here than at home. The brow is peculiarly beautiful—not merely from its regularity, but singular flexibility. It will laugh of itself, and the slight arch always heralds, and utters beforehand the piquant thing the tongue is about to utter; and then she laughs so sweetly!”

That Mr. Headly did tread on the toe of the italian as well as of the american ladies, without intending to hurt them, or thinking that his heavy boots had prevented them from dancing; with the following lines, taken from his twenty-second, and last letter, I want to prove that, if he did hurt them, he had not done it maliciously. Yes; in spite of his great faults, which I found in his letters on Italy, and the italians, I am inclined to think him a kind, sincere, and ingenuous gentleman. “I said in my last letter,” says Mr. Headly, “I would speak of the manners of the italian women, which was the cause of their being so universally admired by foreigners. This alone makes an immense difference between an italian, and an american city. Broadway, with all its array of beauty, never inclines one to be lively and merry. The ladies (the men are worse of course) seem to have come out for any other purpose, than to enjoy themselves. Their whole demeanor is like one sitting for his portrait. Every thing is just as it should be, to be looked at. Every lady wears a serious face, and the whole throng, is like a stiff country party. The ladies here, on the contrary, go out to be merry, and it is one perpetual chatter, and laugh on the public promenade. The movements are all different, and the very air seems gay. I never went down Broadway, at the promenade hour alone with the blues, without coming back, feeling bluer; while I never returned from a public promenade in Italy, without rubbing my hands, saying to myself, ‘Well, this must be a very comfortable world, after all, for people do enjoy themselves in it amazingly.’ This difference is still more perceptible on personal acquaintance. An italian lady never sits, and utters common-places with freezing formality. She is more flexible, and indeed, if the truth be said, better natured, and happier than too many of my countrywomen. She is not the keen look-out, lest she should fail to frown every time propriety demands.

“There is no country in the world where woman is so worshipped, and allowed to have her own way as in America, and yet there is no country, where she is so ungrateful for the place, and power she occupies. Have you never in Broadway, when the omnibus was full, stepped out into the rain to let a lady take your place, which she most unhesitatingly did, and with an indifference in her manner as if she considered it the merest trifle in the world you had done? How cold, and heartless her ‘thank ye,’ if she gave one! Dickens makes the same remark with regard to stage coaches—so does Hamilton. Now, do such a favor for an italian lady, and you would be rewarded with one of the sweetest smiles, that ever brightened on a human countenance. I do not go on the principle that a man must always expect a reward for his good deeds; yet, when I have had my kindest offices, as a stranger, received as if I were almost suspected of making improper advances, I have felt there was little pleasure in being civil. The ‘grazie, Signore,’ and smile with which an italian rewards the commonest civility, would make the plainest woman appear handsome in the eyes of a foreigner.”

The above lines of Mr. Headley, though rather too severe ones, will, with time, benefit the american ladies more, than any thing said by foreigners: not because Mr. Headley was the first to observe it; Mr. Headley, being an american, cannot be thought of having any bad feeling towards his country-women. However, though I am a stranger in America, I will give more justice to the american ladies, and heal their toe, since I see them created to cheer us with their charming Polka: waiting, in the mean time, until steam, and tourists will have rendered them better, and better.

My purpose here is to demonstrate that the ladies’ faults in America, are the faults of those who keep suspenders to their pantaloons. The american ladies are disposed to gentility as well as any lady in the world; and were, here, italian ladies, who had changed their italian custom, I could not, nor I should wonder for it. I will say here, en passant: the contrast between the american ladies, and american gentlemen is so great, for which I had often thought the two sexes in America, must be of different nations.

How can we blame the american ladies for being so reserved, when the american gentlemen check them at the moment of their most kind, and woman like impulse, and feelings? I have known american gentlemen, who would not marry the woman they love, were she not unkind with every other gentlemen around her: and many did judge woman’s love towards them, as far as she was unmerciful towards other gentlemen. And erroneously thinking that love is blind, they would not believe that a woman would love them, because she finds faults with them. A gentleman was to be married to a belle in the south of this Union. Another gentleman seeing the portrait of the future present wife, was asked by a friend, there present, if he knew the original, to which he answered, that such a star could not be mistaken. The promised, and happy young lady, passing her little index through the breast of her portrait, said: ‘and this is the milky-way.’ Such witty, and innocent remark was thought indelicate by her lover, and it had nearly broken the match!

I have seen more jealousy in the cold looks of american gentlemen, than in the showing, and often exaggerated feeling of italian gentlemen. American ladies, often shrink with fright, lest they be thought unfaithful to him, whom they love; and in proportion of the population, I think there are more fights, and murders, originated from jealousy in America, than in Italy. The death of Mr. Andrienne, by the hand of an american husband, is one of the most cold murders which had ever disgraced our race.

Is a foreigner engaged to be married with an american lady? Nothing is forgotten to force the lady to break the match. And here I will say nothing of the false articles, which I read myself in the newspapers, against foreign gentlemen, respectable, and respected by every one who had the honor of being acquainted with the slandered foreigners. I have seen american ladies, in receiving any kindness from gentlemen, looking first at their husbands, before rendering thanks to the gentleman, who was polite to her. Yes: the coldness of the american lady is not natural to her; and were she acting otherwise, she would be blamed; and Mr. Headley himself would think her as a lady without dignity. Still, the ladies of New York are pearls when compared with the ladies in the interior of this Union, where foreigners are very rarely seen.

Step into a car, into a steamboat; and the very gentleman who complains of the indifference, and coldness with which american ladies receive the kindness of gentlemen, is the first to spoil them. Once, being in a car, and not thinking that the back department of it, and always more comfortable, was exclusively for the ladies, seeing almost all the places vacant, I went there, and seated myself; when the agent of that train, with a loud voice, and manners to make the ladies understand he had no difficulty of being rude with his own sex to please the ladies, said to me with a voice of command, that the place was only for the ladies. ‘It is not my intention,’ I answered him, ‘to intrude myself among your ladies: but, you should be more polite to an inoffensive stranger, when you find him innocently breaking your rules, by telling him in a whisper, that he is mistaken.’

I wonder to find the american ladies good as they are with like gentlemen, spoiling them continually. The american lady must have an uncommon mind, not to think herself a being far superior to all gentlemen in bones, flesh, and blood. And how can she think otherwise, while the ladies have a reciprocal regard between themselves, the gentleman thinks it derogatory to himself to be polite with another gentleman? However, as my wish is to be just with the american gentlemen also, and the acquaintances who honor me in America, I must say that: although there are some of my sex, who think that a gentleman is not obliged to be polite to the politeness of those whom he thinks his inferiors, the generality of american gentlemen are now as civil as any civilized nation in the world; and during the time excepted, when they are before ladies, in which time they think it unmanly to have any regard between themselves, the aristocrat of money, who does not answer politeness for politeness, may be suffered by them; but he is not imitated by republicans: and the republicans in America form the greater number.

I saw gentlemen with ladies touching the shoulder of other gentlemen, telling the latter to give up their seats for the ladies, and them, without acknowledging the least thank. In a public place every gentleman would always be pleased to give up his seat to a lady; but, to command him to do so, he who gives up, falls from his dignity; and he who takes it, shows a want of feeling. If the giver feels naturally more moral pleasure in ceding it, is it not better to wait the moment in which the gentleman, seeing the lady standing by him, will immediately offer her his seat? Not long ago, a lady stepping with her daughter into a car, touched on the shoulder a gentleman before me, telling him to leave the two places he occupied, and give them up for herself, and her daughter: and with the imperial countenance of Elizabeth, queen of England, showed to him another place before him, where another gentleman occupied two other places. The gentleman did all she wanted, without saying one word, with such a patience, though dejected generosity, which caused me to grieve for my own sex. Few days after, two ladies stepping in the same car, where I occupied two places, fearing of being commanded like the gentleman for whom I grieved, I offered the vacant place next mine to the nearest lady, standing by me. She answered that she would receive both places in order to sit together with her friend. In asking the lady if she commanded me to do so, or if she would be thankful for giving up my place, and she answering that she would be thankful, I gave it up, and went to seat myself with another gentleman.